


Laissez les Bons Temps Rouler

by bigfriendlywords



Category: Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-10-14 04:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10528986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigfriendlywords/pseuds/bigfriendlywords
Summary: This was written around the time the fandom fell into a deep dark depression due to Sam attending a certain wedding with a certain someone. It was suggested at some point that maybe Sam was in New Orleans with Graham. Maybe he had gone to Louisiana. Maybe someone met him there...I know a lot of people post on here boasting "this is my first fan fic!" and then post this beautiful prose perhaps ghost written by a bronte sister or something. This is not one of those times. I'm definitely in the "desperately turning over logs in search of a writing voice" phase of writing where I have to be at least two glasses deep before even opening the word doc. Be gentle.Oh, and if you haven't clicked away at this point (CONGRATS!!! You've won a crappy fan fic!) I've changed the names of our OTP's (maybe) significant others. It'll be cheap and obvious, but it'll help me sleep at night.





	1. Une

"Happy accident" might have been the wrong words. To most, he was positive it would be a happy accident to unintentionally rent an apartment in the heart of the French Quarter during Mardi Gras. It was an accident to be sure—but happy? And maybe he had been aware of the impending carnival date when he booked his plane ticket and scoured the internet for a cozy accommodation complete with a street-side balcony overlooking Royal Street. But happy? 

Okay, so maybe he had anticipated a bit of a serotonin bump having analyzed various Mardi Gras goers' first-hand accounts of a sample size that would satisfy the scientific method. The gist: alcohol, fried foods, rampant street dancing, and casual nudity. Upon further retrospection, maybe his analysis hadn't been so thorough considering he only really enjoyed one of the before mentioned. That was alcohol. In great quantities. 

Being a vice he was currently humoring (heavily), Sam's eagerness to preamble his explanation for an impromptu New Orleans visit that conveniently coincided with Mardi Gras with the word "happy" was becoming easier. As was the urgent call he made to his unsuspecting co-worker who was still trying to blink the sleep from her eyes from her bed in Ireland. 

"And no one thinks to tell you that Louisiana's climate is actually tropical," Sam half-shouts, opening the freezer and popping his head inside for the 5th time that hour. "I'm literally drowning in humidity and it's only February!"

"Are you literally drowning or..."

"Hush, Balfe, now is not the time," Sam says, sticking his hand in the icemaker and making out with a handful of ice.

"Alright," Balfe says softly, "It's just- one day you'll literally be drowning and..."

Sam removed the phone from his ear and sighed in relief as he cupped the melting ice against the back of his neck. The sigh of ecstasy quickly crescendoed into a shriek as the frigid water ran down his spine past the elastic of his shorts. 

Sam shot an accusatory glance at the countered phone as if daring it to relay that rather feminine vocalization across the airways. It was beginning to dawn on him that he was rather giddy with intoxication and maybe needed to simmer down. Being a man of drams, whisky and scotch- this new sugary substance the locals deemed a "hurricane" was resulting in a state of general silliness and hyperactivity he had not experienced before. 

"Balfe!"

"Which is why sentence structure and syntax is very impor-- yes?" Cait perks, having almost talked herself back to sleep. 

"I'm verra drunk in a verra strange way," Sam confesses almost to himself.

"Oh you're drunk? I hadn't noticed," Cait replies sarcastically over a rustling of sheets. Sam imagines she is squirming deeper into her duvet as to preserve her body's warmth, her residing in a place in the world where weather made good sense. 

"I'm also verra alone in a foreign city during a state-wide celebration of sorts," Sam says, turning to the balcony where the sounds of gathering crowds had started to drown out a four piece brass band that had been playing since noon.

"Mardi Gras, yes," Cait yawns. "I do have questions..."

"Come hang out," Sam whines in a fashion eerily similar to a bored high school girl. Damn it to hell, this hurricane drink. He was greeted with a short sigh and then a long silence.

"Sam, where is MacKenzie?" Cait finally asks. This was obviously the question she had been patiently waiting to probe. As much as she enjoyed drunk dials from her coworker at 3am in the morning Ireland time, Cait was well aware of Sam’s travel plans and figured he’d be with his girlfriend—not drunk in a hotel room. 

Sam doesn't even pause before blurting: "not here!" and letting out a few suppressed giggles. Despite his best efforts to appear nonchalant, he was greeted by another resounding silence. 

Sam wasn’t positive where Mackenzie was—on a plane to her parents? Splayed out on the beach with a margarita in the same drunken state he was in? Leaning on her uncanny social media detective skills to discover his location and hoping on a plane to Louisiana because she lacks any hint of self-preservation. 

 

"Look," Sam clears his throat and attempts an air of rationalism. "I know you like to spend your off time with Tony. And I'm sure he is being an all-out riot and you two are having a hoot..."

"Sam..."

"But listen," Sam interrupts. "Last time we spoke on the other side of point-o-eight, you admitted that you were a bit concerned about how eager Tony was to settle and spend your break before South Africa carving little crevices into your couch with your arses."

"Sam!" Cait hisses over the sound of her rolling out of bed. "He's right here."

Sam smiles as he imagines Tony's famous hairline-raising eye-roll that must have greeted Cait's answering of his phone call so early in the morning. Come to think of it, he wasn't exactly sure if Tony was actually guilty of such body language or of it was something Sam's eyes were prone to do upon the mentioning of Cait's significant other. 

"Fine, bring Tony if you must! I just know how much you love to travel," Sam explains. "And the weather will condition you for South Africa's climate."

Another pause of silence; Cait's new trademark.

"Sam, are you okay?" Cait asks. Sam's turn for a pregnant pause. Considering himself in the mirror across the room, Sam furrowed his eyebrows and managed to summon enough sobriety to speak truthfully. 

"I don't know, Cait," he finally replies, abandoning his reflection and stepping out onto the balcony. Below, hordes of people were already communing with their sequined leotards, feather adorned masks, and faces painted as if a spontaneous street-rendition of A Midsummer Night's Dream was inevitable. "I'm surrounded by all these colorful, excited people and I just want to half-stand in the freezer and drink this frozen death drink."

"Death drink?"

"It's called a hurricane. I'll buy you one when you get here. It’s very appropriately named," Sam smiles at the thought and then pauses. From his elevated position, Sam can see the milling about of a high school marching band, attempting to line up in the narrow street. Girls with batons and tasseled boots practicing high kicks as local police atop horses start to carve out a parade route of sorts. A young couple stand side-by-side against a gridiron gate sipping from their drinks and gazing in opposite directions. "I think I... I think I may have messed up."

"Okay, give me a day- I'll be there," Cait says but without pause this time.


	2. Deux

After Cait had cleared the doorway, Sam comically poked his head through the threshold, looked both ways, returned his head back into the apartment and let out a long sigh of relief, wiping the back of his hand across his brow.

"Oh, ha ha," Cait rolls her eyes, dropping her bags and crossing her arms. "Speaking of passive aggressive jabs at Tony, we need to have a discussion about the language you designate for him..."

"Later," Sam interrupts, picking up her dropped bags and hauling them into the extra bedroom. "Your accommodations, ma lady." 

Cait eyes the two twin beds hastily pushed together; an attempt at a makeshift queen with a considerable chasm down the middle. Would have been appropriate, she thought mildly; that chasm reflecting more in her life than her ridiculous co-star's attempt at formality. 

"I know it's not grandest of accommodations... I sort of booked this on a whim and didn't think I'd intentionally set myself up as a third wheel" Sam scrambles for an explanation, having observed the subdued way Cait eyed his hurried handy work. 

Cait smiles reassuringly, taking her bags from Sam and tossing them on the bed before wrapping her arms around his waist for an all-engulfing hug she had been needing since 5 am that morning. "You're mistaken. This is a look of longing, not disappointment. It's been a rather long day of traveling."

Sam rests his chin on her head and squeezes her softly. He had always enjoyed hugs from Cait; most of them occurring onset between takes as to protect each other from the Scottish chill. Now in street clothes and 85 degree weather next to Sam's embarrassing marriage bed ensemble, he still felt like they were protecting each other from something. The nagging grief he had quelled with anticipation of Cait's arrival and amble amounts of alcohol was starting to edge back into his consciousness. He squeezes a little harder.  
a]  
"You ready to tell me what's happened?" Cait mumbles almost inaudibly into his chest before turning an ear against his clavicle to free her mouth. "What sort of crisis would drive you to hotel-bound solitude during Mardi Gras?"

"I'm not in solitude anymore," He points out, pulling her to arms length. "My Robin has arrived." 

"As much as I appreciate the batman metaphor-- I just want to make it clear that I am not the lesser side-kick on this trip."

"Uh, Balfe, what?"

"I'm here with you. Drink for drink. Shot for shot," She smiles wickedly. "You were right. As much as I love a well-worn sofa, my ass was tired of sitting around between location shoots. And, God, I'm so tired of swanky parties."

That one took Sam back. 

"You?" Sam asks in exaggerated surprise. "But the fashion, and the free top-shelf alcohol.." 

"And the fake people with their fake smiles, the A-listers who look down their nose at you as the celbri-wannabes mill around you looking for the crumbs they dropped?" Cait wrinkles her nose in disgust. "And, God, those vulture photographers shouting 'look here Cait! Flip your hair, Cait! Where's your cleavage, Cait!?'" 

"Aye, I especially hate when they ask for my cleavage," Sam winks. 

"Then the morning after, I get to look forward to the hordes of fans hyper-analyzing every goddamn picture on social media and opening up Socratic forums on my body language with Tony."

Sam furrows his eyebrows at that. He had heard the anti-Hollywood banter from Cait before but she had never given heed to what her fans said on social media, let alone read the comment section. If he was being completely honest, he had silently taken part in the great body language analysis. He was almost made to feel awkward with how easy and comfortable it was for Cait to lean into him at events as Tony, the picture of stoicism, clutched her purse and avoided his eye. Sam had even started to internally refer to Cait's partner as Tony the Hall Tree to amuse himself when she left his side to stand awkwardly with her boyfriend.

"Never mind," Cait says absently, waving away Sam's concerned looks. "I just want that giddy high you seemed to have when you called the other night. That's the state of consciousness I crave."

"Well then, change those heels into something you wouldn't mind treading through vomit in, and lets go!"

Sam wasn't sure what exactly he needed in companion right about now. Originally, he envisioned a sturdy shoulder to openly weep only after the sugar/alcohol high had subsided. He hadn't considered a mate who was in equal need of blowing off steam and further forgetting their woes. It had the makings of a disaster. Or, most likely, a really fun time. 

 

 

Cait put on a light sundress adorned with colorful sunflowers to compliment her new devil-may-care personality. 

"Conditioning for South Africa, remember?" Cait had answered Sam's raised eyebrow as he gave her the up and the down.

"You look like the picture of Spring," He had replied in the thick Scotts he liked to exaggerate with idioms. 

Now, sitting with their backs facing a rather messy water fountain, Cait was glad she decided to bare her back and arms. Little drops of cool water danced up and down her back as the fountain intermittently burst like a small geyser. It was warm in New Orleans—and humid. The baby hairs framing her cheekbones and temples has curled up into mini devil horns and the thick of her hair below her messy bun was damp with sweat. 

In passing, someone had handed her a paper fan—something people were prone to do here. Whereas she initially violently beat the flimsy thing as if she could take flight, she had now adopted a more languid movement similar to her use of the elaborate cloth fans she used in 18th century France. The combination of the water spray and drafts of cool(er) air lifting her soft curls left her eyes half lidded and relaxed. Or it could have been the drinks.

Sam had bought her a Hurricane, which was more of rum Slurpee than anything else. She wasn’t positive how much rum was masked by the sugary syrup, but the tingling in her fingers indicated it was doing its job nicely—and efficiently. 

"Mardi Gras is a month long affair," Sam says, leaning over her straw and stealing a few sips. "Can you imagine doing this for a month?"

Normally she would have said no, but she replies with a dreamy: "Oh, yes."

The air is thick with jasmine; the scent so strong, Cait feels drunk on it. She takes a deep breath and holds it in her lungs for a moment; feeling light and flirty like that natural airy perfume around her. 

She glances at Sam who is tapping his foot to a street band down the way and people-watching with a quirked eyebrow. He seemed to be unaware of how many people were actually "people watching" him, singularly. Sam had an uncanny ability to take command of a stage or set with an attention-grabbing performance. Yet somehow he is completely unaware of how his mere presence pulls people’s gaze. Besides being built like a demigod, Sam had an aura that just exuberated charisma and charm.

“You’re staring at me, Balfe. Is there something on my face?”

Cait slowly shakes her head.

“I think I’m quite drunk,” She smiles and leans her head onto his shoulder. “Let’s be tourists and walk Bourbon Street.”

Sam nods enthusiastically, standing and aiding Cait to her feet. In standing, Cait noticed a group of women behind them attempting to snap sneaky pictures with their phones.

“We’ve been discovered,” She whispers into Sam’s ear, grabbing his arm and lurching forward before he had a chance to turn. 

 

Three hours later, Cait and Sam found themselves in an old blacksmith’s forge converted into a piano bar in the French Quarter. After watching a slow sunset reflect across the Mississippi whilst debating the articulatory importance of the /d/ sound in their respective accents, the two had turned from sugary rum drinks to scotch, much at the insistence of Sam. 

Now they sit, drinks propped on a closed piano lid sipping mediocre scotch out of plastic cups. It was explained to them at some point that the plastic cups should be referred to as “go cups” as it allowed them to leave the bar and wander the streets of New Orleans with their drink in tow. They had taken advantage of this concept several times now, exiting the bar to geek-out over the architecture or tap their feet to a three-piece jazz ensemble on the street. They kept finding themselves wandering back into the blacksmith bar for another round having found comfort in the dim lighting and the cozy corner tucked behind the piano near an open brick window.

“Do you think they’d play an Irish drinking song if I requested one?” Cait asks, eyeing the piano player not three feet from their perch playing a rather somber song. 

“Aye, American’s love the Irish,” Sam says. “We did just walk down the Irish Channel, did we not?”

“Still disappointed we didn’t find a Scottish channel?”

“I figured the Scotch would have fared nicely here, that’s all,” Sam replies with a wink. “What with the drinking and enthusiasm for horses.” 

Outside their claimed window, the threatening clouds finally broke and large rain drops started to fall.

“Shall I shut the window?” Sam asks, stretching an arm open-palmed to feel the gentle pat-pat of the raindrops, now picking up in intensity.

“No, “ Cait replies, mirroring Sam’s actions. “I rather enjoy it.”

The two lapse into a companionable silence as they watch the rain dent the elephant ear leaves of a tarul plant under their window. Sam finds himself staring at Cait’s upturned hand, moving under the rain as if she was conducting an orchestra. He follows the graceful curve of her wrist, his eyes tracing the soft white of her bicep up to her exposed collarbone and the way her hair curled with the humidity around her long neck. He took his time there, noting the soft bulge of her larynx and the way her muscles gently sloped into her shoulders. He had gently sucked that skin just below her ear before; just enough to leave a soft mark. 

That was as Jamie, of course, and her as Claire. Yet under the influence, and sometimes when not, he finds himself wanting to run his hands up over her shoulders to caress and cradle her jaw in the palm of his hand. No one could blame him, he was certain of this. She is a beautiful woman. 

Usually he could keep these notions at bay with various strategies not unlike the stereotypical erection-ridding thoughts often depicted in teen flicks. However; instead of imagining his mother or thinking about baseball, Sam found visualizing Tony with a stiff arm around Cait to do the job nicely. 

But with the pianist half-way through Francis Lai’s Love Story Theme and the fresh scent of rain in the air, not to mention the ample amount of alcohol in his system, his guard was down, considerably so. 

When his eyes finished studying the dips of her clavicle, he raises them to look upon her face. There their eyes meet and Sam blushes a violent crimson. Where Cait would usually have the courtesy to look away, she was also three sheets to the wind.

“What is it?” Cait asks slyly, taking a rather seductive sip from her drink. 

“I was just thinking…” Sam stammers, searching his brain for anything other than: “about how perfect the white of your neck is and how I’d love to fuck it up; does Tom kiss you there, darling?”

But before he can answer, the sharp shrill of his phone’s tone snaps the smirk off his face. His heart drops as the name “Mackenzie” flashes across the screen.  
Cait sees it too and glances back up at Sam curiously.

“Are you going to answer that?”

Sam sighs. He’d rather not. He lets it ring a third, fourth, fifth time before resigning to his fate. 

“Hello?” Sam answers as if cell phones didn’t make it impossible to not know who was calling. With a fleeting glance to Cait, Sam slides out of his seat.


	3. Trois

Cait decided before she boarded the Louisiana bound plane that her phone would be utilized for pictures only. She had been questioning her motivation behind such a decision every time she felt a slight vibration from her back pocket.  Was she still angry? Did she just need peace of mind? Or perhaps she just wanted him to miss her.

Seeing Sam on the phone with his partner now made her glad of her phone celibacy. He was frowning, fingers massaging his temples while pacing the long hallway near the kitchen.

He returns a moment later with a confused expression of guilt and anger and two shots of something in hand. He hands one to Cait, mutters a quick slainte and tosses it down. Cait, a little slow to react, sips about half of hers before handing it back for him to finish.

“I think you need it more than I do.”

Sam’s response is an exasperated sigh and a quick crossing of his arms.

“Can I just say…” He pauses. “No. NO! No, I can’t be crazy. This is ridiculous! I just…no.”

Cait waits patiently as Sam continues to stutter start a rant and shutting it down before he can finish a complete thought.

“Was that your wee lass?” Cait asks as an attempt to help organize his thoughts.

“Aye,” he replies, attempting to drain an already drained glass. Cait nudges her unfinished beer towards him.

“Has she done something to upset you?” She pries a little further.

“Aye,” He replies quickly and sternly followed by a deep breath and a shrug. “Or maybe I’ve done something to upset her.”

He pulls out his phone, finds a photo and slides it across the piano top to Cait.

“The lass who saw us near the fountain earlier today? She snapped a picture of us and posted it on instagram,” Sam says.

Cait raises an eyebrow at a seemingly innocent picture of the two, shoulder to shoulder and deep in conversation.

“What’s the issue?” Cait asks, sliding the phone back. Sam avoids her eyes and stares deep into Cait’s half-finished beer. “Ah, she doesn’t know I’m here with you, does she?”

Sam slowly nods a frank no, eyes still focused on the amber liquid. Obviously Cait would have to do all the talking.

“We have been friends for a while, Sam. We’ve traveled together before even outside of our film schedule. Why is this a problem all of a sudden?”

Sam blushes that familiar crimson and drains his glass.     

“I may have said something,” Sam says, glancing out the window at the torrents of rain, “that would probably be ordained inappropriate.”

Cait chokes on nothing, “About me?”

Sam groans and quickly glances at the door as if planning an escape.

“Well, sort of about you. Inadvertently about you,” Sam says, starting to rip at the damp napkin under his glass.

“Go on,” Cait says, leaning closer.

“This is actually really embarrassing, and a bit of an over share,” Sam says. Cait gives him a  _it’s me, so what_ shrug. Her verbal nudging failing, Cait tries literally nudging him with the toe of her shoe.

“So MacKenzie and I haven’t exactly mastered the art of long distance dating,” Sam starts. “We’re great at communicating and respecting each other’s schedules and the silences that elapses because of them; but… we really haven’t found our rhythm when it comes to.... you know.”

Cait raises a questioning eyebrow; more so to force Sam into saying the words than actual ignorance. She loved to watch him blush.  

“Sex,” he almost squeaks.

“Ohhh,” Cait responds exaggeratedly. Sam shoots her a dirty look.

"We just aren't in each other's presence enough to gain that comfort, you know?"

She didn't know. Cait, not unlike Claire, loved expressing herself through intimacy.

"And whereas she is very generous with sending me pictures, she is completely unwilling to try phone sex," he continues. "All the while, I'm simulating this fiery, hot sex life on screen."  Sam gestures at her and she reflexively smiles, pleased. 

"So I took initiative and opened up a dialogue about it. I was all 'what are you into?' and 'what would you love to have me do in bed'" Sam says, his frustration with the situation overshadowing his embarrassment as his conversational style starts to normalize. 

"And I get nothing!" He almost shouts. "Not one thing! She is perfectly happy stuck in missionary staring up at my miserable face forever."

Cait was starting to wonder where she played into this. It was one thing to be envious of Jamie and Claire's relationship played out on the screen, but Cait was not Claire. MacKenzie, being an actress herself, would know this. Wanting to push aside the mental picture of MacKenzie dead fishing below Sam, Cait suppressed the urge to interrupt, not wanting to stop Sam's momentum.

"So to lighten the mood and in attempts to facilitate things, I suggested we get a bottle of wine, lock the door, and talk it out. Maybe even act some things out, you know?"

 Cait's eyes widened as she started to see where this was going.

"And, all wrapped up in my attempts to enthuse her into this scenario, I may of mentioned that you and I did such a thing when we created our Jamie and Claire's Fucking Think Tank."

"Please tell me you said other people were in this think tank besides me. Like the writers, Ronald or even fucking Diana," Cait begs.

Sam sighs in response, scratching at his head. Cait lets her mouth fall open.

“Let me get this straight,” Cait starts. “You basically insinuated to your girlfriend that you were unsatisfied with your sex life and when she fails to drop her walls and have a voyeuristic conversation with you about it, you go ahead and reference a time that you and I got drunk alone in a hotel room and talked extensively about what kinky shit Jamie and Claire are into?”

“Honestly, I don’t see the what the problem is!” Sam exclaims, throwing his hands up in defeat. “It’s not like we were locked in that room fucking!”

Cait gives him a scrutinizing look for a moment.

“As a feminist who believes in advocating and educating, I’ll let you know you’re toeing some dangerous waters here,” Cait says critically. “If the next words out of your mouth are in anyway similar to ‘she’s fucking crazy’, I will start to talk at you about the patriarchy.”

Sam opens and closes his mouth several times before resigning into silence.

“You took something she was struggling with, and probably embarrassed about, and broadcasted how great your TV wife is at that something. Doesn’t help that that something is sex! In fact, I feel like I should call and apologize to her,” She says, reaching for his phone.

“You may not,” Sam says, snatching the phone out of her reach. The two glare at each other for a beat, Cait trying her best to look patronizing. “She hasn’t exactly extended that feminist sisterhood onto you!”

“That’s her choice,” Cait says instinctively but pauses. “Why, what has she said?”

Sam freezes but quickly recovers by excusing himself for another drink.

“Just get a fucking pitcher,” Cait shouts after him. She watches him go, feeling a mixture of annoyance, guilt, and… satisfaction? She was having a hard time not smirking at the memory of that night; the two drawing sex thought-webs on the hotel window Mark Zuckerberg style. She remembered that she did feel vaguely devilish that night, as if maybe it would be impossible to argue how this could be platonic in any way. It was justified many times throughout the night, however, as their drunken mantra became: it’s character building research!

Sam returns with the pitcher and, apparently, a new approach.

“Look,” He sighs, pouring their glasses to the rim. “I admitted that maybe I was the one who was inappropriate. I’ve been trying to come to terms with how I fucked up, alright? And yea, maybe inviting you for a solo trip wasn’t the logical next step but in my defense, Tony was invited too.”

Cait rolls her eyes, but more or less dissolves her patronizing glare. Sam hands over her beer, making sure their fingers touch for a moment to emphasize a point.

“You’re my best friend, Balfe,” He says earnestly, meeting her eyes and holding them. “I really tried to rack my brain for someone else I’d rather spend the week with and it kept coming back to you. I mean, ‘as a feminist who believes in advocating’? That’s the person I need.”

Cait, unable to read if that last bit was sarcasm, takes a generous gulp of her beer in order to break the eye contact.

“I feel verra awful about the whole thing. I know you’ll keep me honest,” Sam says, ducking to connect again. “As difficult and frustrating as it’s been sometimes, your goddamn strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over. You’ve kept me honest. You made me a whole person. I owe you everything, Scully, and you owe me nothing.”

“Did you just quote X-files at me?” Cait smirks, unable to mask the intoxication she had kept at bay for present conversation. The two had started to marathon the show in their trailer after running into Gillian Anderson at a gala. “Not sure if you finished that series, but that unresolved-sexual tension trope doesn’t hold out.”

 

 

 

 

An hour later, Sam makes the executive decision to stay up until sunrise, that event being an hour away, as it was.

“If we go back to the apartment, I’ll just be admitting defeat,” Sam explains, tucking Cait’s hand into the crook of his arm. “I have the spins and trying to sleep would just result in lots of vomit.”

“Lovely,” Cait says, pulling a face, but ultimately agreeing.

Having said goodbye to the sun while gazing across the mighty Mississippi, the two decided they would welcome it back at the same spot.

“Can I admit something?” Sam asks, leading Cait to a bench.

“Seems to be the theme,” Cait points out, taking her seat and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I may have gone into detail, when I spoke about our Jamie and Claire Fucking Think Tank,” Sam says, putting an arm around Cait.

“Of course you did,” Cait says tiredly. “By the way, is she searching your name on Tumblr, or what? How did she get that picture so fast.”

“Aye well,” Sam says, eyes spying the initial transition of the black into purple hue on the horizon. “That’s what I meant when I said she hasn’t extended any sort of sisterly love onto you. She’s taken to searching our names on any sort of social media to prove I’m unfaithful. May have an RS feed or a google alert for all I know.”

Cait resists the urge to sit up straight at the thought. The spins had rendered her unable to function as well. She frowns at the mental image of MacKenzie compulsively pressing the refresh button on various social media sites.

“Which sexual fantasy from our think tank did you share with her?” She asks instead, closing her eyes in pure bliss as the sun’s first rays cleared the river.

“I tried to sell her on the horse bestiality story we drunkenly wrote, but she wasna buying it so I settled on the edging bit we produced,” Sam says, also reveling in the steady warmth radiating from the early sun.

“Ah yes,” Cait says dreamily, “and how did that one go again?”

“Ah, well, Claire had an affinity for teasing Jamie, you ken? Especially during long journeys where she had to listen to clan Mackenzie drone on about their fake sexipades. So she would do all she could to make that tandem horse ride with Jamie verra eventful; pushing her arse and rhythmically gyrating against him…”

“Did we ever come up with a synonym for ‘gyrating’?” Cait interrupts. “You know I hate that word.”

“No, I didna believe we did,” Sam says thoughtfully. “You didna care for ‘grinding’ either.”

“Anyway,” Cait sighs.

“Anyway, she would continue to tease Jamie up until the point of no return before she would produce some chaste space between the two and busy herself with some innocent bird watching. Even at night around the fires, surrounded by highlanders, she would touch him until he was audibly moaning and then quickly withdraw and feign sleep. She would do this for fucking days, teasing and teasing until they got to their final destination where they would have their own, private accommodations.”

“Then what would she do?”

Cait was vaguely aware that she was partaking in the long distance phone sex Sam wished he was having with his girlfriend. Possibly it was the alcohol, but as she watched Sam inhale and start with an exaggerated “well”, feminist or not, she felt she couldn’t care less about her.

 


	4. quatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cast of Preacher is introduced (with no character development, no less) in this chapter! Ruth Negga, Dominic Cooper, and Joe Gilgun :D

"Oh no, Honey, no," Ruth says, shaking her head in disapproval. "I'm not about to unburden your conscience here, mhm mmm."

"You're really playing up that southern charm," Cait replies blandly. "You method acting now?"

Ruth gives Cait a half smile, reaching across her to grab another beignet. 

"You're changing the subject," Ruth points out, sprinkling more powdered sugar on an already sugary treat. "Sounds like you two need to figure some things out."

Upon purchasing her impromptu ticket for America, Cait had called her friend Ruth who was currently filming Preacher for the month in New Orleans. She had already set up a few dates with Ruth and her boyfriend and costar, Dominic, but thought she required an emergency meeting after the previous night’s events. 

"What? It was completely innocent!" Cait says crossly. " Yes, he described what Jamie would do to Claire, and in great detail. But then we went home into our separate beds!"

"And did what?" Ruth asks, smirking into her beignet--the sugar leaving a powdery mustache behind.

Cait's furious blush was enough of an answer. She couldn’t answer for Sam, but after awkwardly standing next to him in their kitchen, chugging water like champions, and literally fucking curtsying a goodnight, she had immediately crawled into bed and slipped a hand under the elastic of her night shorts. 

“But it was the thought of Jamie and Claire,” Cait persists. And it had been, but, god, the way Sam’s voice deepened when he described (in detail) the many layers Claire shed and how she seductively did so… 

“Uh huh,” Ruth replies, unconvinced. 

Cait eyes her friend carefully, observing the way Ruth’s expression of suspicion hadn’t relented since she shared her moment with Sam. The two had shared many a secret, but Cait wasn’t quite sure what she was confessing to or if she was guilty of anything in the first place.

“You don’t ever?” Cait stops, then leans in and lowers her voice. “Do you ever get a script that’s just so…. What’s the word?”

“Filthy? Hot?” Ruth tries, leaning closer to Cait. “Are you trying to ask me if I’ve ever gotten off to a script? Have I ever been handed an episode hot off the printers, flipped through causally, and then excused myself for a private reading in my trailer?”

“Er, well, yes?”

“Of course I have,” Ruth laughs, sitting back suddenly and crossing her legs at the ankle. “And then this one time I invited my costar into the trailer to ‘practice the script’ and now we’ve been dating for six years.” 

“Is that really how you two got together?” Cait asks. She knew perfectly well that she had met Dominic on set but was curious as to how their relationship initiated. 

“Did I invite him into my trailer for an off-the-book rehearsal for a sex scene and then actually fuck him?” Ruth asks in feigned offense. “Please, Cait, I’m a professional.”

Ruth flashes Cait a brilliant smirk before grabbing her hand and squeezing hard.

“Honey, I’m sure you’re only innocently asking me to write you a how-to for bagging your costar,” Ruth says as Cait huffs, trying to snatch her hand away . Ruth laughs and catches it again, bringing their clasped hands to her lips and giving her a quick kiss. “Just be careful, dear. I know how you get and I’m awfully aware of the deep state of denial you causally exist in.”

Cait scoffs and tries to snatch her hand back yet again but Ruth relaxing her grip somehow convinced her to go limp at the arm. Ruth turns over her hand and starts to finger her palm, tracing the fine lines.

“I’ve just had my palm read by a gypsy in Jackson Square,” Ruth says, concentrating on the parallel lines running across her palm. “So where you are usually the wiser, I feel I have some authority when I tell you to tread lightly.”

“Ruth, I’ve been working with Sam for years now,” Cait sighs but ultimately surrenders to the calming effect of Ruth’s palm reading. “and I firmly believe men and women can be friends.”

“Oh, me too,” Ruth glances up at Cait. “But there is nothing platonic about dirty talk in the park.”

Cait opens her mouth to respond but is interrupted as Dominic, Joe, Graham and Sam make their way into the little café. 

“Balfe, did you know Duncan Lacroix is somewhere in this city as well?” Sam asks, sliding a table to join Cait and Ruth’s. “Graham said he’s down for Mardi Gras as well!”

“It’s like the British invasion,” Dominic laughs but quickly stops as his Scottish and Irish friends give him a dark look in reply. 

 

 

After becoming reacquainted with old friends and introductions to new ones were complete, the group made their way onto a street car in order to attend a parade uptown.

Cait sat on the street car’s bench seat near the open window, relishing the feel of the wind lifting her curls. Sam had made himself comfortable next to her, reaching an arm around her shoulder and closing his eyes against the warmth of the sun. Cait had exchanged a warning glance at Ruth who was eyeing the two with a practiced blank expression. Ruth had shrugged in response was now looking out the window deep in thought.

Now that they were in a group, Cait did start to feel a bit guilty. She had noticed how no one in the group had asked about Tony or MacKenzie as if they were all in on a dirty affair and it was best to not ask questions or call attention to the obvious. She let her mind drift back to the last conversation she had with Tony before she had gotten on the plane.

He was so mad at her, so hurt. But he had taken her to the airport anyway and kissed her on the cheek as she ducked her head to avoid his eye. 

“Plan to have a lengthy discussion with me upon your return,” He had said. “Do take some time to think about what I’ve said.”

He had sounded so much like a stiff university professor and she had felt so much like a child who'd received a stern talking to. After the shock of such a departure had worn off, she had located the nearest airport bar and hid her face in a glass of red wine. Tears had pricked at the back of her eyelids but her anger kept them back. She was so angry at him but was too close to it to decide if it was misdirected. She had meant to talk to Sam about the situation when she arrived but found it more enjoyable to be drunk and carefree in his presence. 

Joe, who had stated he was having a hard time lifting the exaggerated Irish accent he had adopted for his role in Preacher, was apparently also having a hard time shaking his character’s drinking habit. He had been passing a flask around and demanding a degree of debauchery before they had even exited the street car.  
After a few swigs, Cait decided that whatever reflection Tony had demanded of her could wait.

 

 

After hours of day drinking, loud music and fried foods, Sam couldn’t think of a better evening activity than swimming in a cool pool while sipping on Bloody Marys. The group had eventually found Duncan who had decidedly splurged on a house equipped with a pool outside the city. After essentially inviting themselves over, everyone stripped to their underthings having not taken the time to stop for swim suits.

Cait, Sam noticed, had resumed her “laissez les bon temps rouler” temperament after a moment of quiet reserve at the beignet café. She was now down to her bra and panties, laughing without reservation and splashing Ruth. 

“What a silly life actors lead,” Graham says, plopping a few extra garnishes into Sam’s Bloody Mary. “We never do grow up, do we?”

Sam nods in agreement, “just fine with me.”

“Aye, Graham, what does your wife have to say of it?” Duncan asks, leaning in his lounge chair. “Perhaps it becomes tiresome for everyone else?”

“Nah,” Graham says smiling, lowering his sunglasses to wiggle his eyebrows at the Scotsmen. “She also enjoys my drinking from the fountain of youth. Keeps things exciting.”

Sam, having not signed up for this discussion, quickly excuses himself to head for the pool.

“Ye can afford to ignore me now, laddy,” Graham calls after him. “Just wait till your knees start to protest in the morning!”

“Eh, who are we kidding? He could be bent over a walker and the ladies will still be grabbing at his arse,” Duncan replies.

Sam waves a hand of dismissal in his direction. Having learned earlier that diving into the pool results in the loss of his boxer briefs, Sam instead lowers himself into the cool water with his Bloody Mary safe above the water line, and wades towards his companions.

“Sam,” Dominic greets him, urging him to join their circle. “We’re contemplating drinking games but Cait mentioned that’s all you two do during press junkets.”

“Aye, but she isn’t insinuating that she’s grown tired of it, has she?” Sam asks, giving Cait a look. “Because it’d be a lie. Cait loves a good drinking game. And, I might add, she is incredibly competitive.”

“They want to play a drinking game that involves stripping,” Cait warns, giving Sam the up and the down. “You can lose only once before you’re completely nude.”

“And what would be wrong with that?” Joe asks innocently, also giving Sam the up and the down.

“I doubt MacKenzie would love the thought,” Cait says with an almost challenging edge to her voice.

“Oh and Tony would?” Sam pushes right back. Cait shrugs, taking a rather predatorily threatening step towards Sam.

“Okay, okay!” Ruth interrupts, putting her arms out between the two. “You’re right. It makes no sense to play a stripping game as we are pretty much stripped."

“Tis a shame, really,” Joe remarks.

“Truth or dare,” Dominic offers. “Never have I ever, Sharks and minnows, or, hey—here’s a thought! We could just sociably drink!”

“I think we should swim for it,” Cait says, still staring Sam in the eye. 

“I told you she was competitive, did I not?” Sam laughs, but maintains eye contact with Cait.

“Swim for what?” Joe asks absurdly. 

“Spin the bottle!” Dominic shouts.  
“I’m not kissing your girlfriend just so you can finally have that excuse to fight me,” Joe shoots back.

“Chicken fight!” Cait shots

“Categories!”

“Strip Poker!”

“Beer pong!”

“CANNONBALL!” The back-and-forth of drinking game options ceased immediately as Graham entered the pool with an impressive splash that may have lowered the water level considerably.

“The voting game,” Duncan declares only after the resulting splash fight had calmed down. “We’ll play the voting game and I’ll be the moderator.”

“And what exactly are we voting on?” Sam asks frowning at his now watered down Bloody Mary.

“Here’s the first question: who among us has probably stared in an adult film?” Duncan asks, making a point to look all of them in the eye with out bias. 

“Well I know for a fact he has,” Dominic says, jerking his thumb at Joe.

“That’s only half true,” Joe winks.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got one!” Ruth interrupts. “Who’s experimented with the most drugs?”

“Oh why bother; it’s Joe,” Dominic says confidently.

“I second that,” Cait chimes in.

“Oh aye?” Graham challenges. “I’ve been around much longer.”

They all consider Graham for a moment before decidedly selecting Joe as the winner.

“Who has been to jail the most?” Duncan asks.

“Joe.”

“Seconded.”

“Aye.”

“Are you sure about that?” Graham challenges again.

The game continued as such; a question posed with Joe as the obvious answer and Graham challenging each one but ultimately losing. Sam quit waiting to win the vote at some point and resorted to heavy drinking. Cait had followed suit and was stealing sips from Sam’s refreshed Bloody Marry as she bounced on her toes in the water.  
The sun had at last set and the pool’s multicolor lights waved under the water in a most attracting manner. Though the air was still humid, there was a certain chill that took the sun’s place and Cait huddled closed to Sam to steal some body warmth. Sam had to avoid looking down at her. It was bad enough she looked that good in her matching black lace set, but having her push into him and lean her head against his shoulder was just too much. 

“Who hasn’t been laid in a while?” Duncan poses, abruptly snatching Sam out of his thoughts.

Joe instinctively raises his flask for a silent cheers, but pauses before his lips touch the rim. 

“Wait, no,” He says with a smile. “Not me. Got laid last night, actually."

“We banged it out in your bathroom an hour ago,” Ruth smiles, nodding to Dominic. “Sorry, Duncan.” She adds.

“Second day here without the misses,” Graham counts, turning to Sam and Cait. “So it’s up to you two.”

Sam and Cait quietly exchange reluctant glances. 

Having caught the look, Duncan interrupts: “You don’t have to answer, maybe the question was in poor taste.”

“Poor taste? As opposed to the last 15 questions I had to own up to?” Joe asks, lacking the tact Duncan possessed. Dominic too seemed to lack any semblance of awareness.

“Wait, are you two not fucking?” He blurts out and then quickly doubles over as Ruth elbows him in the gut. An awkward silence engulfs the group as they all attempt to look any where but at Cait and Sam.

Of all the reactions Cait could have, Sam was relieved she chose to laugh hysterically. Ruth slowly cracks a smile but then joins in with the laughter, nudging Joe and Dominic to wipe the dumbfounded looks off their faces. Sam, the last to join in, gives a few short hoots and then drains his drink.

“I’m sorry,” Dominic apologizes finally, looking more at Cait than Sam. “You sell it so well on the screen. I know you both have significant others. Hollywood is weird, ya know?”

“Well, they’re good actors, are they not?” Joe pipes in, passing his flask to a wanting Cait.

Sam opens his mouth to respond but is cut off as Dominic turns on Joe.

“Sure, sure,” Dominic says, ignoring the way Ruth gently tugged at his arm in attempts to keep his drunken ramblings to himself. “But I’ve had sex scenes with women I’ve never actually fucked." He then looks at Ruth with a look of admiration; “and I’ve had sex scenes with women I have.”

Ruth blushes and ultimately halts her attempts to silence him.

“There’s a difference,” He concludes, bending down at kissing Ruth enthusiastically.

Joe rolls his eyes at the pair and falls back into the water, backstroking away. Duncan and Graham, Sam notices, were being uncharacteristically quiet. He gives them a questioning look which is returned in kind. 

“I was actually interested to hear the answer, that’s all,” Graham says honestly and Duncan nods slowly behind him.

“What?” This actually startles Sam. He finally looks at Cait who was still holding Joe’s flask but narrowing her eyes at Graham.

“Oh bullshit, you know we aren’t,” She says pointedly.

Graham and Duncan exchange a brief look that didn’t escape Sam.

“Out with it, gentlemen,” he growls, advancing on the two.

“I’ll only say it cause we’re not returning for season three and I’m pretty drunk,” Duncan says to Graham who shrugs in return.

“Say what?” Cait demands, keeping step with Sam.

“There may or may not have been a pool going around,” Duncan says, wincing slightly as he says it. “We wondered about those closed doors rehearsals you two would have before your sex scenes. As Dom said, you sell it well.”

Dominic gives a muffled “hmm” of agreement, still kissing Ruth with more vigor now. 

“Well surely you all now know we weren’t, so who got the money?” Cait asks. “I feel we deserve a cut of that, Sam and I.”

“Not so fast,” Graham smirks holding out a halting hand. “The conditions of the bet aren’t over, ya ken? The pool is not just for if you have… but if you will.”


	5. Cinq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people have spoken; I'm changing the SO's (?) names back to their god given name. I'm working on a computer with 15% battery, so I'll go back and change them in previous chapters later. Sorry for continuity issues if my slippery mind forgets.
> 
> Thanks again for all the comments! I'm having a blast writing this ;D

"I don't know! I'm sorry, I just need some time-- No, I get we spend a lot of time apart, but this was different, okay? I just felt like I was suffocating what with your family and.....No, I don't mean it like that..."

 

Cait sighed warily, leaning her head against the kitchen wall. She had been casually eavesdropping for the past thirty minutes and was dangerously close to snatching Sam's phone from his ear and throwing it off the balcony. McKenzie had called five minutes into their streetcar ride home causing Sam to miss the lights and sounds of an Uptown New Orleans night parade. While stopped at a light, Cait had grabbed a stray string of beads hanging from an oak who's branches extended and poked into her open window. She placed the metallic purple beads around Sam's neck as he continued to listen to his girlfriend's woes on the phone with a set frown.  Dangling at the bottom of the beads was a plump set of breasts with impressively taunt nipples that lit up intermittently.

Sam paced now with said breasts swaying to and fro and emitting a tiny blip of light in the darkness. 

Cait removes her head towel and shakes out her wet locks before braiding them expertly behind one shoulder. Having given up on an early turn-in, Cait heads to the liquor cabinet and manages to find an un opened red and two glasses.

After pouring a generous amount, Cait heads out to the balcony were Sam greets her with a mouthed “save me.”

She shrugs in return, handing him his glass and sitting cross legged on the floor to observe Sam and his swinging blinking breasts.

“McKenzie, I don’t think we’re going to solve this tonight,” He says, glancing at Cait. “Can we call it and try again tomorrow?” 

McKenzie must have had a lot of opinions about this offer for Sam remained on the phone, silent, staring at Cait with a deadpan expression as she monologued into his ear.

“Hang it up,” Cait says without reservation and possibly with too much volume. Sam shoots her a look.

 “I hear you, but I really think—“ Sam pauses before taking the phone away from his ear and giving Cait an incredulous look. “She hung up on _me_!”

“Well, it’s what we all wanted,” Cait says, rolling her eyes. “Sit. Talk.”

He clearly couldn’t, for he started to pace and sip manically at the wine.

“She said I’m too old to be this childish,” He says, halting his pacing in order to lean over the balcony.

“Sounds familiar,” Cait says coldly, reflecting on the way Tony had made her feel so childish and naive at the airport. 

“No, certainly not you,” Sam whips around to look at Cait. “Not miss I-haven't-visited-a-museum-until-every-plaque-has-been-read-and- appropriately- annotated,  cultured wine snob. What is this wine, by the way?”

“Unsure,” Cait shrugs studying her glass. “It was red and corked.”

“So unlike you,” Sam smiles, joining her side of the balcony and sliding down the wall so that their shoulders touched. “So how are _you_ immature?” 

Cait squints at him, not certain she was ready to talk about her situation. She was enjoying Sam being the one with relationship issues and her being the supporting friend/ enabler who practiced active listening skills while sipping on various alcoholic beverages. He was looking a bit distraught and wordless at the moment, so she shrugs and leans her head on his shoulder.

“Tony want’s children,” She says quietly, feeling Sam stiffen next to her. She was glad she had strategically hidden her face from him for she felt her face start to fall.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Sam tries when she doesn’t immediately follow up with her own thought on the matter.

She sighs and lifts her head only to take a sip of wine. The air was humid but with a soft breeze that occasionally whistled across their glasses. Though the mosquitoes were kept at bay with several lit citronella candles, the crickets chimed in the background making their city apartment feel like a cabin on the bayou.

“At first I thought I just didn’t want children,” Cait starts. “I had made peace with my acting career blossoming rather late in life, for Hollywood. It wasn’t ever something I had ever given great stock to, children. Like most little girls raised to believe they would and should want children, I humored that fantasy until the age of 17. Then I was introduced to the world.”

She stops there for a moment, remembering a younger version of herself, traveling from continent to continent with a few changes of clothes, a dog-eared novel, and a gas stove. She spent a summer in Spain hopping from hostel to hostel, before bleeding out into the rest of Europe and then to Asia. South America is where she had decided she was made for a nomadic life.

“But then,” She says, startled to find tears starting to well at the corners of her eyes. “I wore that stupid baby bump for a few months.”

Sam puts an arm around her and brings her head back to his shoulder as the tears start to find their way down the line of her nose. She remembered those few months she adorned that growing belly and how Sam had become extra gentle with her as if she was an egg waiting to crack. He must have remembered too for he started the soothing Gaelic he had adopted from Jamie Fraser and unconsciously used when Cait was wearing the bump.

“It started to dawn on me,” She says, lifting her head to look at Sam, “That I did want a baby. I just didn’t want a baby with Tony.”

Sam thumbs a tear off Cait’s cheek before leaning in to kiss her forehead. She had to stop there. The rest was too confusing and vulnerable and she had forbid her brain from indulging in such thoughts. Ruth’s accusation of her living in a perfect existence of denial was pretty spot on, she was starting to realize. She could deny it all she wanted, but she relished in the feel of Sam’s touch. She had started to find a thoughtless silence in her brain whenever he touched her so that she wouldn’t have to dissect the feelings she had buried inside of her.

“He has set an ultimatum,” Cait finally says, pouring herself another glass. “I’m to spend this trip thinking about what I want and then return with my complete analysis and answer.”

“It sounds like you know what you want,” Sam says.

Cait laughs at that, wiping a few stray tears away. It was ludicrous, she knew. She knew what she didn’t want with such certainty it scared her. What frightened her more was that unwavering fact that she also knew what she wanted, just refused to accept it.

“Well, what about you?” She says, scooting so that she now face to face with Sam, knee to knee. “ Why are you childish?”

“Oh it’s verra cliché,” He says casually but then clears his through decidedly. “She wants to get married.”

Cait chokes on her wine and launches into a coughing fit. But of course she would want to get married, Cait had to remind herself as she thumped her sternum and waved away Sam’s concern. Who wouldn’t want to marry Sam? She knew that this had to be coming, but so soon?

“And do you want to?” She finally says avoiding his eye. Sam sighs, leaning against the wall and looking over Cait’s head into the night. She had forgotten that he was still wearing mardi gras beads with those ridiculous breasts and it made her smile despite herself.

“I don't know,” Sam finally says. “I don’t take kindly to being told what to do and when, ya ken.”

“Oh, I ken,” Cait laughs. “Is that why you escaped to New Orleans?”

“Aye,” He says. “We were at her brother’s wedding in the South where apparently people’s lives still revolve around white dresses, amiable marriages, and dowries, probably. So every damnable member of her family came up one by one, as if cued, to ask me when I was going to put a ring on it. By the end of the night my shoulders ached from shrugging and McKenzie was avoiding my eye with this heartbreaking expression on her face. I think she assumed I was secretly arranging something this whole time and was disappointed to find I hadn’t given it a thought.“

“You haven’t?” Cait asks, a little surprised herself that he hadn’t even considered the notion. Sam glances down at her, alarmed.

“Not you too,” He whimpers. “I think I’m waiting for something.”

Something? The right moment with McKenzie? For the show to end? For his first blockbuster? A leap year? 

“What are you waiting for?” Cait blurts, unable to contain her curiosity. Sam looks at her in earnest with a unreadable expression in his eye as if he was sizing her up. She tried her best to remain behind her designated wall but was sure, for a moment, that Sam was reaching his hand out for her. She considered it, her eyes glancing down at his parted lips and back up to his eyes. She could feel her heart speed up as he learned toward her slowly. He stopped halfway between them, waiting for Cait to respond. An invitation?

In the second it took Cait to make up her mind to let gravity do it’s work and pull herself forward, as if on cue, a drunken passerby yelled "throw me something mister" up to their balcony; the New Orleans cue to chunk beads at whoever roamed the streets below. Sam had been pavloved into instinctively grabbing from a bag near the railing and spraying the alley with beads. He did so now, but with less glee, nearly taking off the head of the yeller with a baseball pitch of wadded up beads.

Cait had actually clutched her chest as if felt her heart was about to leap out and join the mardi gras beads. Positive she had just read his body completely wrong, Cait immediately pulls her hair out of her braid in order to re-braid it anxiously. Sam sighs, watching her curiously as she pulled and twisted her dark locks. 

"Balfe, what are we doing here. It's too hot and there aren't any mountains to climb," He says, whipping his brow exaggeratedly. "Being below sea level makes me anxious and cranky."

Cait raises an eyebrow, "and where do you suggest we go?"

"Let's go see Mount Rainer," he says, standing abruptly as if he was to start packing right away. "We'll just head to Washington State early. Maybe go skiing, fly fishing, or whatever it is people do in the pacific North West." 

"Get rained on?" Cait suggests. "I heard Seattle and Scotland are weather sisters."

" We could get a Swiss lodge in the mountains," Sam says dreamily, offering a hand to help Cait up. "Watch the snow fall as we lounge in front of the fireplace."

"Sounds awfully romantic, Sam," She says warily. "If McKenzie is this upset about our platonic living accommodations in New Orleans, imagine her reaction when she hears you want to cuddle together before a fire in a Swiss lodge.' 

"I didna say anything about cuddling," Sam smirks. "Were you wanting to cuddle with me, Balfe?" 

Cait blushes at the accusation but shrugs it away with a impish "You'd be a warm body in a cold place."

 "How verra pragmatic of you," Sam scowls at her, leading her back into their small apartment.

Cait gave the proposal it’s due thought, but her soul had soared at the suggestion. It was hot, and she still hadn’t formulated a clear thought about literally anything in reference to her personal life in days. Sam was right about the weather here, she thought. How does one think clearly while drowning in the humidity?

Haven given an appropriate amount of time pretending to consider his offer, Cait turns with a blinding smile and a simple nod.

"It's settled then. We're off to Washington for round two of our 'the SO's find us immature, so we're drinking ourselves to death' vacation." Sam echoes her smile.

"Is that what we're calling it? 'Cause I'm still not on board with your naming the Jamie and Claire Fucking Think Tank... the syntax is a bit confusing."

" Then what would you have me call it?"    

 

"A fucking vacation," Cait says bluntly, draining her glass expertly.

 

"Still a vague name," Sam laughs, winking in her direction. " Is it a  _fucking_  vacation or a fucking _vacation?"_


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shorter one!
> 
> Ignore how fast I change tenses. I'm like a disoriented 9th grader.

Somehow, Sam conveniently missed his turn for maybe the sixth time. He let out a forced “fuck” if only to convince himself it was truly a mistake but then winked at his navigation app when it patiently stated it would reroute him. 

Running on little sleep, a considerable amount of coffee, and about as much adrenaline as the body can handle, Sam grips the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands and compulsively pulls his lip under his teeth.

The relentless LA sun pours through his sunroof which he would normally appreciate but now only added layers to his anxiety induced sweat. He runs a shaky hand through his product-free hair in attempts to look somewhat put-together though he could hardly care less. 

For some odd reason, his mind was mostly back in New Orleans where Cait would be an hour into the inner monologue of anger, surprise, and curiosity she was bound to entertain. He imagined her clad in a silk robe with her cat slippers on, cup of coffee in hand as she reads and rereads the note he had left; switching accusing glares from his semi-neat hand writing to the plane ticket he had bought for her. 

The adrenaline high had started the moment he put pen to paper last night. After hugging Cait goodnight, he had slipped into his bedroom and softly closed the door. With the darkness came an overwhelming feeling of loneliness and he found himself reaching for the doorknob several times, each time talking himself out of it. He resided to sitting on the foot of the bed with his head in his hands attempting to meditate, or sleep, or anything but think. 

Eventually, his beating organ won the war of the heart and brain, and he made it past his door to just outside Cait’s. There he heard her speaking softly with sadness in her voice. It brought him up short though instinctively he wanted to let himself in and comfort her and whatever plagued her. 

“—I just can’t go on pretending,” he heard her say. Gleaning she was on the phone, Sam took a few steps back to allow her privacy, but not before he heard her sob “I can’t give you what you want.”

He felt himself jolt with those words as if they were a trigger; as if he had constructed a plan ages ago, buried them in a vault and these words were the key. He found himself pulling his phone out of his pocket and searching for flights with one hand; the other blindly searching the desk for a pen and paper. 

The note didn’t say much. It was generally cryptic, mostly because Sam wasn’t sure what to say but partly because he knew she loved surprises. It said what it needed, and left out all the rest. Lagniappe, as they say in Louisiana.

Cait was basically left with a plane ticket to SeaTac airport, notice that a driver would be waiting for her at the baggage claim, and instructions to stop at her convenience to update her wardrobe to winter wear (he left money but knew he would be seeing that again), and then to sit back and relax as she is driven into the Cascade mountains. 

As for his whereabouts, he left a simple “I have something I need to take care of.” 

“I have something I need to take care of,” He says out loud now, pulling into McKenzie’s driveway and putting the car in park. He had texted her when he landed in LA and she hadn’t responded but she was sitting on a lawn chair in the front as if waiting for him.

Sam closes his eyes briefly, taking in and holding a deep breath. He let himself picture Cait in her silk robe one last time before kicking open the car door.

She must have known what was coming for she had pulled her hair down around her face and was sporting large black sunglasses. Despite their coverage, Sam could see that she was already crying.

 

After the initial shock of it all, McKenzie and Sam sat side by side on her lawn chair, staring at her water sprinkler Sam was pretty sure she shouldn’t have on. She had wanted to hold his hand, and he let her, but it felt like dead weight now. He glanced down at their entwined hands and tried hard to feel something other than pure relief. 

“Is it Cait?” McKenzie finally gathers the courage to ask, biting her nails.

Sam considers her for a moment, tearing his eyes from the mesmerizingly cyclical movement of the sprinkler.

“It’s a lot of things,” He says. Even though her eyes were hidden behind her dark shades, her disappointment was clear.

“I believe I am owed the truth,” She says sternly, taking her hand from his and balling them into fists. “I can handle it. I’d rather you leave me for your gorgeous leading lady than some fault of my own. Call it vanity…”

Sam snorts a quick laugh and shrugs. 

“I was comfortable with you, ya ken?” Sam starts affectionately, unfurling her fist and fitting it back into his own. “We had similar interests. You were game to climb any mountain with me without complaint, deal with me being away for so long…. But—”

“You never loved me?” McKenzie finishes for him, wiping a tear away and setting her sights back on the sprinkler system. Sam neither confirms nor denies but lets them lapse into an uncomfortable silence.

“I thought maybe I was in love,” He finally says, instantly regretting that he had said it. McKenzie glances at him though, perplexed. “But I think what we had was an incredible friendship.”

“And your incredible friendship with Cait ended up being love?”

They lapsed into another obstinate silence, both staring straight ahead.

“Does she know?” 

“I dinna ken, but she will.”


	7. Sept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You people are the best. The absolute best.

Cait made an educated guess that the chauffeur clutching a picture of a cat was hers.

“The man who hired me said your name might draw attention,” He said, grabbing her bags. “He said you’d get it. Are you famous or something? It’s okay if you are. I’m really professional. I’ve driven Chris Pratt around here. Did you know Chris Pratt has a second home here?”

“No, I’m not famous,” Cait smiled warmly at him, following him as he bobbed through the crowd. “And I had no idea Chris Pratt lived here.”

“Oh yes mam,” he stopped at a covered jeep and threw Cait’s bags in the back. “For getting up to the mountains.” He added when he saw her glancing at their ride.

“That’s fine,” She assured him, refusing the back seat in order to sit along shotgun with him. 

It was actually more than fine. She was just thankful she wasn’t alone in a stretch-limo, off to an event or to be placed in front of a camera and asked “would you rather” questions. She smiled, imagining the snow that awaited her in the mountains and the crisp air that would welcome her.

 

She wasn’t disappointed either. After a quick stop at the store to update her wardrobe and pick up a few things for cooking in the cabin, Cait had settled in for a three hour drive through the Cascade Mountains.

Her driver, one Mr. Baker, was an excellent tour guide. He would stop at all the sights; taking a picture of her in front of Mount Index, pulling through a “Big Foot” coffee trailer on the side of the road for a warm mocha, recounting the various avalanches in the location and how one derailed a train.

By the time they had pulled into a lot, Cait felt like she could have written a short pamphlet on the Cascades and was equipped for any quiz bowl. It had started snowing halfway up the mountain and the lot was covered in untouched blankets of white. Cait leaned her head out of the window.

“Where is the cabin?” She asks, peering through the trees in search for any semblance of a shelter.

“Well you have to hike to it,” Baker replies, producing two pairs of snow shoes and handing one to her.

“Aren’t you the complete package?” She laughs, slipping into the snow shoes and plopping both feet onto the soft ground. She extends both arms into the air and stretches luxuriously, feeling the freezing snow dot her face as she looked up into the clouds. Looking around with a blinding smile, the sights and smells of the atmosphere left her feeling high; the snow covered trees, the deer tacks in the snow, the mountain peaks in the distance…

“Your husband finds you very capable,” Baker was saying, pulling Cait’s luggage out of the back and onto a small sled. “He thinks I can just leave you at the cabin door and that you’ll take care of the rest.”

“I am rather self-sufficient,” Cait says, not bothering to correct Mr. Baker’s assumption. “Although, I must say I am grateful for your snow shoes and sled”

She had spotted the trail across the clearing; a snowy incline that looked as though it would climb the mountain side at a 45 degree angle. 

“Don’t worry, there are switchbacks on the other side of those trees,” Mr. Baker says, noticing the nervous look on her face. “There are in-depth instructions in the cabin, but I’ll go ahead and power up the place for you and then get out of your hair.”

Cait smiles appreciatively at him and follows his retreating back to the trail head. The pair struggle up the snowy bank, Baker pausing to readjust the load on the sleigh. The snow was coming down in sheets by the time the two rounded a corner to reveal the cozy cabin. Cait audibly gasps, taking in the two-story but quaint cabin, nestled between a grove of Douglas firs with an icicle lined overhanging and frosted windows.

Baker unlocks the door and quickly shuffles into the darkness, down into the basement to start poking and prodding the cabin to life. Cait, sticking to the light of the windows, walks the parameter of the downstairs running her hand along the polished wood and inhaling the scent of cut pine. She locates the large fireplace on the opposite wall and, as if a moth drawn to a flame, immediately starts to construct a sturdy frame to house a great fire. The logs were stacked neatly next to the stone hearth and smelt strongly of the forest outside.

She had a fire roaring by the time the electricity blinked on and Mr. Baker appeared by her side with an approving nod.

“Your man was correct; you are very capable,” He remarks.

“Speaking of,” Cait responds, warming her palms over the fire. “Did Mr. Heughan say when he would be arriving?”

“He didn’t. I offered to give him a ride up, but he said he would be driving, ” Mr. Baker replies, beckoning her to the basement to show her the drying room, the hot water heater, and the breaker box.

After a cursory tour, Mr. Baker made his leave and Cait settled into a warm cup of coco in front of her proud fire. The fire slowly started to lull her to sleep as her mind switched lazily from recounting her conversation with Tony to eager anticipation of Sam’s arrival; one out weighing the other…

Sleep started to overpower, her head starting to swim with images of snowy mountains, mardi gras floats scrapping the bottom of giant oak trees, and deer tiptoeing softly through the flurry filled paths when suddenly---

BAM

The front door flies open causing Cait to jump from the couch and snatch the fire poker from the hearth; brandishing it like a great sword.

“You going to stab me?” A familiar voice greets her and a sense of relief immediately floods her as she nearly collapses back into the couch. “I wish I hadn’t identified myself— I’d love to see you try.”

Sam steps out of the snowy threshold and throws a duffle bag into the hall. The sight of him makes Cait laugh for he had ice caked to his beard and wet snow all the way up to his thighs.

"Ha, ha," Sam says, taking off his hat and shaking the snow onto the ground. "I didn't have snow shoes, a sled, and a bell boy, unlike someone I know."

Cait slinks off the couch and almost skips into his arms. Whatever was left of the wall she had been fortifying and patching for the past couple of years finally crumbled and all she could feel was a radiating happiness. He must have felt it too, for he opened up his arms to her and squeezed with all his might. Silently, their touch told their respective stories and they both knew they were finally free.

"Oh, Cait, I long to kiss you," Sam says in his best Jamie Fraser, burying his face into her hair. "But my lips are frozen and numb and I wouldn’t feel a thing."

Cait squeals in girlish delight as Sam rubs his frozen beard against her cheek like an affectionate cat. 

“You wanna bet?” She challenges, fingering his coat’s zipper and tugging slightly. She glances up at his widened eyes as if waiting for consent. She figured his absence as of late was accounted for in LA but knew how important it would be for Sam to tie up any loose ends. His eyelids fluttered and he exhaled shakily, looking down at her with wonderment. Cait let her thumb hook his zipper and drag it down, her gaze following it to allow her a moment of thought.

She knew this was a moment. They had kissed as Jamie and Claire, if just under the guise of Jamie and Claire. But as two people? Two friends who always understood they belonged together but kept putting off the inevitable. Two lovers who portrayed a fiery desire on screen but then wiped their lips and sat in a humming sexual tension in their folding chairs, denying the need to find a dark corner of the studio to live out that passion they played. She knew what he would taste like; that sweet flavor that had no name but she craved it like a drug. The zipper slipped off it’s train and Cait was left without time.

Sam placed a curved finger under her jaw and lifted her chin to meet his gaze. 

Well she couldn’t very well leave a challenge like “you wanna bet?” without at least initiating. 

Cait lifts herself onto her tip toes, leaning gently into his chest, and lets her lips meet his; her arms wrapping around his neck. Cold though his lips were, there was an immediate spark as he greeted her— his lips softly exploring hers as if they had never met before. 

“Cait,” Sam whispers, his teeth grazing her bottom lip. He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her hips flush to his. He wanted to hug her and kiss her all at the same time in a flood of release, relief, and happiness. 

Cait responds by gently opening her mouth and moving her hands to the back of his head, pulling him in to feel her passion and urgency. Sam responds in kind, running his hands to the exposed skin of her hips and the up to her—

“SAM!” Cait yelps, jumping backwards. “Your hands are fucking cold!”

Sam, slightly out of breath, disoriented, and sorely missing her body against his, reached out for her to draw her back. He was filled with wanting and could hardly think straight—but the cold wet was starting to sink into his bones.

“Pour us some wine while I change,” He says, kissing her on the cheek as he bends down for his bag. 

Watching him shuffle down the hallway, Cait let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Part of her wanted to scream in elation—her diaphragm contracting with desire. The other part had her looking around the room nervously. She looked down at her yoga pants and t-shirt, cursing herself for not assuming he’d appear today. 

Remembering she had a task, Cait slipped into the kitchen, uncorked a bottle of wine and nearly grabbed two glasses of wine before pausing for a memory.

Shortly after their chemistry test, Cait had nervously called Sam up and invited him to a hole-in-the-wall wine bar that somehow managed to run out of clean glasses by the time the two had arrived.

“Oh we’ll be sharing a lot more than saliva,” Sam had smiled charmingly at her, accepting an offered bottle and handing it to her. 

She had returned that smile, taking a hardy swig before giving it back.

“Yes, I expect we will.”


	8. huit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, you guys. It has been crazy and I've NEVER written smut before so I'm having crazy sex anxiety. I wanted to dedicate several days to attempting to write something sexy but today's rainbow fiasco on our crazy ship has left me feeling a bit bummed. You might be too, so I'll post what I have. MORE TO COME SOON.

Sam finds Cait with her back to the fire and a bottle of red wine in her hands. Silhouetted by the fire, he watches her take a swig from the bottle in a classy way only she could—somehow managing to make the action look seductive and inviting. His mind had been in the gutter since he boarded the plane in LA; resulting in his endless repositioning on the plane in order to hide his apparent eagerness while sitting between two elderly ladies who apparently knew each other. The two leaned on their armrests across his person in order to chit-chat, leaving Sam in the awkward position of apologizing repeatedly while cross and recrossing his long legs. 

Fully aware that walking in the room half hard probably wasn’t the most tact way to approach the situation, Sam heads to the window and observes the snow against the cabin lights.

“It’s really coming down out there,” He says awkwardly, his mind already repeating the mantra he created to keep his mind off of Cait’s legs. “Perfect for skiing tomorrow.”

“Cute,” Cait says from her perch on the hearth. “You think we’re leaving this cabin to go skiing tomorrow?”

There was an undeniable tone of seduction in that query—so much so, Sam turned around to see her as to not miss whatever facial expression might accompany it. He was not disappointed.

“Cait,” He says in something between a hiss and a gasp, curling his hands into fists by his side. Those were the only words he could produce and yet somehow she understood. Possibly his desire was palpable. Perhaps she knew this feeling of unrequited need that left him starving and wanting.

She held out the wine bottle in offering but he was honestly afraid to approach her. They both knew what was happening tonight; but how? Admittedly, he had played this situation out in his head several times in various scenarios. He’d slide between her in a remote hot spring in South Africa in one fantasy; frantically enter her in a storm of lust in a glen in Scotland in another; softly cradle her in a rented apartment in Paris or slowly rock into her on a secluded beach in California…

But now that it was time, he had no idea what he wanted to do more: softly and gently explore her— or take her; letting her feel what he had been hiding for years.

“Sam, come here,” she says, instead of offering the bottle, she offers her hand. 

Sam bridges the gap, taking her hand and sitting down beside her. He also takes the bottle, allowing himself a generous swig before looking upon her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cait asks.

Sam shakes his head. “I only want to talk about us and yet… I feel it’s unnecessary? Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Cait says, suddenly cupping Sam’s face in her hands and blinking away unexpected tears. “I know what you mean.”

Sam was relived to not be the only one overwhelmed with emotion. He felt like he could cry too but smiled instead, thumbing away her tears.

All of the things he could tell her flashed across his brain all at once. How long he’s wanted her, when he knew he was in love with her, how much it hurt to kiss and move against her on set and then sit alone in his trailer and try not to think about it. It was a blur—everything he had to tell her; but he meant what he had said: it wasn’t necessary. Not in this moment.

So instead of using his mouth for talking, he uses it for kissing. He leans into her, slowly yet urgently, finding her lips though his eyes were closed. 

Cait responds in kind, instantly opening her mouth and finding his tongue. Sam felt as if he could have melted in her touch and actually felt himself slide further towards her, his hands running from the swell of her hips up to her cheeks before dipping back down to her waist. 

Separating for a breath, Cait stands and leads Sam to the couch facing the fire and gently pushes him until the back of his knees hit the soft cushion of the seat and he falls back into the pillows. Cait quickly straddles him, kneeling above him as to kiss his forehead, the space next to each eye, and his temples.

His lips free, Sam again feels the need to talk but felt himself moan instead as Cait forgoes her kneeling and sits flush to his lap, grinding her hips against his. 

“Sam,” Cait whispers into his neck. “I know we needn’t speak, but my god…”

She had obviously found him; hard and eager against his jeans, and was now rubbing against him with an agonizingly slow movement that had him gripping her hips and urging her downward for more friction. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” She says, an echo of Sam’s thoughts. He responds by sliding her shirt off and finding the buckle for her bra. “I’ve had so long to think of what I’d do to you if I got you.”

Throwing her bra to the ground, Sam immediately busies himself with attaching his lips to Cait’s nipple and sucking gently—anything to keep her talking and gasping. 

She was doing more of the latter, causing Sam to busy his face between her breasts and ask in a muffled voice: “and what do you want to do to me?”

“God—” Cait runs her hands down Sam’s back and removes his shirt expertly. She places both hands on his chest and pushes back slightly to look at him. “Everything and all at once.”

In the firelight, Cait’s dark locks were almost red and her eyes were darkened with lust. He brushes her hair from her eyes and rubs his nose against hers.

“Show me.”


	9. Neuf

Previously: God—” Cait runs her hands down Sam’s back and removes his shirt expertly. She places both hands on his chest and pushes back slightly to look at him. “Everything and all at once.”

In the firelight, Cait’s dark locks were almost red and her eyes were darkened with lust. He brushes her hair from her eyes and rubs his nose against hers.

“Show me.”

 

Cait had been working on her ability to take direction and thus grasped this opportunity to further her skill. She did show him. She demonstrated exactly what she had meant by “everything and all at once”, and did it well. 

She had him sprawled across the couch, toes curling with restraint as she worked her way down his toned body. She allowed him a moment to blush as she commented on his size—for she had always harbored a feeling he might be the kind of guy who knew his blessings, but liked to hear it all the same. 

After a moment, she dragged herself against his length in order part his lips with her tongue and then hover herself above him so that he’d feel her absence and tug her down upon him. She loved dancing this dance with him—prolonging the moment of connection until he had no choice but to roll them to the rug below and take her.

Apparently Sam too enjoyed the back-and-forth for as much as she gave, he took and then returned some. He had her reclined on the couch—nails raking the soft fabric as he made himself at home, kneeled between her legs. 

When they did mutually surrender, Sam slowly pulled her to the rug before the fire, pushed her hair out of her face, and simply stated “I love you”. Cait had lifted her hips in response, begging him to enter her and start their finale. Sam obliged, nibbling on her bottom lip as he did—exhaling a soft moan that she echoed as she cradled his head. The two fell into a gentle rhythm that quickened but then slowed as they both refused to meet the end. 

Inevitably, the end did approach and Cait felt herself arch against Sam, almost against her, will as her orgasm built slowly at first and then hit her like a train. She shook beneath him and nearly screamed as he too let go and released himself deep insider her—arching his back and pressing his pelvis against her as to better feel her rippling waves of pleasure. 

When the two had finally caught their breath, Cait ran her hands through Sam’s curls and whispered “I love you too.” He lazily kissed her neck in response.

 

 

After a moment, Cait showed him what she meant again; this time with her straddling him on a chair in front of the snowy window. After that, Sam had his opportunity in the kitchen over the picnic style table. They had considered a fourth go in the shower but Sam reminded Cait of his age and accepted defeat.

The morning greeted them sweetly as they sat across each other in a window sill—watching the snow fall and sipping a coffee. Having abandoned the thought of sleep, the two let themselves do the talking they had previously skipped over in favor for sex. 

“Pretty brazen of you to confess your love for me right before sex,” Cait says, extending her leg as to run her toe along the inside of his thighs. “Was pretty hot.”

“You filled me with a bit of confidence,” He replies, taking a coy sip from his mug. “Plus any semblance of inhibition flew out the window the moment you stepped out of those grannie panties you had on.”

“I didn’t know when you were coming!” 

“Oh? I thought I warned you each time,” Sam winks, catching Cait’s foot as she attempts to kick him. “It was better than me showing up with frostbite and shrunken member. I had no idea there would be such an incline and brought nothing by my own back to haul my gear up with. It was only the thought of you, curled up before a warm fire, that convinced me sleeping in the jeep wasna good idea. “

“Or was it just the fire?” Cait laughs.

Sam smiles, but is interrupted by a long yawn that leaves his eyes watering and half-lidded. Cait, yawning in return, lets herself slide across the window sill so that she is between Sam’s legs. She leans in and slowly kisses the corners of both sleepy eyes, the tip of his nose, and then his lips.

“I am completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy,” She says. “And you know I mean it, because I’ve saved that Austen quote since I was a child for a moment probably unattainable in reality.” 

Sam brings her back for another kiss, stroking his knuckles against her cheekbone as he does.

“Damn, Balfe, yours is more romantic than mine,” He says.

“And what quote did young Samwise savor for such a moment?”

“Tell me you love me,” He replies, clasping her hand in his and bringing it to his lips.

“I love you.”

“I know.” 

 

The two spent the rest of the week as a challenge to make up for all the opportunities missed. This pertained to words and emotions that needed to be shared, but mostly sex. As if it was a challenge, the two found the most obscure places to have sex and in the most creative ways. Snow shoe into the Enchantments? Cold sex in a cave near a frozen lake. Ski Stephen’s Pass? Fastest hand job known to man kind when the ski lift stalled. Blizzard trapping them in their cabin? Sex in every room of the house and then again in a different position.

“I feel like a teenager,” Sam had observed at one point, pinching Cait’s nipple before bringing his mouth to it.

“Do you think we’ll grow tired of it?” Cait had replied, pushing his head down so that he traveled further south. “I feel like I’m having a sexual awakening rather late in life.”

“I know I won’t,” Sam mumbled before disappearing between her legs.

 

The following week, the two reluctantly packed their belongings and piled their things in Sam’s jeep as to head back into civilization. The moment they hit the tree line, both Sam and Cait’s phone started buzzing with incoming voicemails and texts.

Sam turned down the volume and rolled up the windows when he heard Cait’s groan.

“What is it?”

“Maril is a bit mad,” Cait replies, scrolling through the multiple paragraph-long texts.

“Mad as in crazy? Or angry?”

“Both,” Cait replies, bringing the phone to her ear to listen to the voicemails.

“Where are you two?” She says, conveying what Maril had said in the voicemail. “Someone tipped off the tabloids that you two are spending a romantic vacation together in the Cascades. Oh, lovely, she is reminding us that we signed something stating we wouldn’t do exactly this.”

“Did we?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Apparently it was somewhere in our twenty page contract,” Cait replies. “Honestly, it sounded like Maril was in a room of Star reps and was saving face.”

“How can you tell?”

“She sent me an emoji of an eggplant, a peach, twelve kissy faces, and then a pointing finger going into an okay gesture.”


	10. Dix

"Could they have picked a more ominous room?" Sam says under his breath, pacing along the beige and inexplicably furry wall. Cait was pretty sure they could have, this being a convention center inhabited by zombie cosplayers and booths sporting gruesome prosthetics.

The moment the two had entered the convention center, a random Starz representative, who failed to introduce themselves, dragged them into a back room and ushered them into two hard seats in the corner.

"Is this an official interrogation? Does the nation of Starz recognize water boarding as torture?" Sam had asked, reluctantly taking his seat. 

The representative offered a second of a smile before disappearing out the door without an explanation.

"I mean, what can they really do? Fire us?" Sam says, attempting to rationalize. "CG our faces onto our stunt doubles?"

Cait slips off her seat and steps in front of Sam to halt his pacing.

"You're wearing a path into the carpet," She says, leaning up onto her tip toes to kiss his cheek. "All they can do is ask us to either break it off, in which case we just lie, or to pretend it isn't happening. Acting is our job, so I think we'd be able to sell it well, don't you think?"

"Speak for yourself," Sam replies, bending down for a kiss. 

As if on cue, a different Starz representative appears with her arms full with coffee and various pastries.

“Morning, gang! My name is Shannon” She greets them, offering the coffees and placing the tray of pastries on the floor before the chairs. “Sorry about the lack of table. We actually have a designated green room with much more comfortable furnishings, but we have some things to discuss, as you know.”

“Why does this feel like an interrogation,” Sam chimes in, reluctantly finding his seat but crossing his arms as he does.

“Could be the ambiance,” Cait remarks, eyeing the tray of pastries.

“I am truly very sorry about this,” Shannon apologizes. “I’ve actually been on the SamCait ship for a while, so this is a very conflicting time for me.”

Sam and Cait exchange confused looks in silence. Cait shrugs, and sips her coffee slowly.

“Tell us more about this…ship,” Cait says.

Shannon blushes suddenly as she glances at the two and then quickly adopts a “no eye contact” policy.

“Listen,” Shannon starts, producing some documents from her purse. “I went over your contract so you wouldn’t have to. It’s a headache, really. Basically, Starz feels you two should not have a public relationship as to avoid fans of the show feeling as if they’re being sold a romance.”

“Come again?” Sam says.

“We had a focus group with an earlier production and found fans were actually apt to lose interest in a show if the stars were in public relationships. Apparently the relationships of the fictional characters and the actors’ personal romance would become inseparable. When the fictional characters did something shitty, people started to dislike the actors. When the actors did something shitty, they started to dislike the fictional characters.”

“Who was in this focus group? Infants without a concept of object permanence?” Cait interrupts.

“Oh believe me, I’m on your side,” Shannon says, grabbing both Sam and Cait’s hand and pressing them together. After observing their bewildered looks, she remembers herself and quickly drops their hands “Oh my god, I’m sorry.”

Cait, finding the girl endearing, continued to hold Sam’s hand.

“So I’ve done some thinking…and some closed doors conferencing with Maril. I think we can easily remedy this situation,” Shannon says, recovering quite quickly. 

“Hire a new focus group? Have more confidence in our fans’ intelligence?” Sam suggests, tightening his grip on Cait’s hand.

“Sam, I need you to call Mackenzie and convince her to pretend as if you two are still in a relationship,” Shannon says bluntly.

“What!” Cait nearly shouts. She turns to Sam in search of a mirroring expression but instead finds him looking perplexed with a small smirk toying on his lips. “Wait, what?”

“No, it’s actually genius, Cait,” Sam says, licking his lips. “Mackenzie was much more excited about going to the high profile events than actually being in a relationship with me. She’ll get to have all the fun without any work.”

Cait turns in her chair to look at Sam. She felt a confusing mixture of relief, humor, and wariness. More than anything, she felt her age.  
"I'm too old for this," Cait says. "I don't want to play games. I know I mentioned we would just pretend like this wasn't happening, but bringing Mackenzie into this?"

She looks at Sam with an expression of sincere vulnerability, bringing up a palm to cup his face.

"This isn't a game," She says softly. She had fought so hard to get to this point. She had shattered the cage of denial she had been imprisoned in and was letting herself really feel for the first time in a while. This sense of pure joy and openness that had encompassed their tryst in the mountains was intoxicating, yet sustaining. "I don't want to hide what we have and I certainly don't want to go back to where we were; that limbo of pretending there was nothing between us."

Sam wipes the bemused smile off his face and pulls Cait in for a hug.

"I ken," He sneaks a glance at Shannon who has one hand over her heart, the other wiping a tear.

"But it would just be for the cameras, right? We could confide in our friends and family?" Sam asks optimistically.

"Oh no, no," Shannon says with wide eyes. "This is tippity top secrete. I could get fired and this could impact Starz's decision when they considering renewing Outlander past season four."

Suddenly, the door flies open and the original representative walks in with a fixed frown. The two spring apart, as if on reflex; Cait somehow kicking the tray of pastries across the floor.

Sam, Cait, and Shannon all crouch on the floor in a hurried attempt at nonchalantly picking up the spoiled pastries. At some point, all three dared a glance and held each other’s eyes meaningfully. Shannon raises her eyebrows in a question and Sam responds with a curt nod. Cait sits back and rolls her eyes.

Let the games begin. 

 

 

“You know,” Sam says, slipping into the seat next to Cait at the hotel bar. “It could be super sexy.”

Cait gives him an incredulous look.

“We just got escorted into our separate rooms on separate floors and opposite sides of the building. I wouldn’t have been surprised I had found tape across the crack of my door to see if I left the room. Last time I checked, being chaperoned was not a kink of ours. ”

“Yea, but it’s very Romeo and Juliet,” Sam responds, lifting a finger to grab the attention of the bartender. 

Cait needn’t bother changing her incredulous expression. 

“Literally can not find one accurate comparison between our predicament and Romeo and Juliet’s. Also, can we stop romanticizing that story?”

“As much as I would love to delve into that argument…” Sam starts but then nudges Cait softly with his shoulder when he sees her determined frown. “I’ll make it sexy.”

“Yea? You going to shoulder check me into one orgasm after another? God I need an orgasm.”

Sam coughs and quickly looks around the bar. He observes a few businessmen returned from some successful meeting, a couple deep in conversation in a corner, and a party of women sipping on martinis. Turning back to Cait, he places a coy hand on her exposed knee—letting his thumb run circles around the inside of her leg.

“I’m appreciating the length of your skirt, Balfe. Don’t you know it’s cold outside?” He nearly whispers, letting his hand run up her thigh.

Cait immediately feels a rush of wetness but glances around the bar wildly in search of a flashing phone or watching eyes. Finding not even a semblance of curiosity about the room, she turns to Sam to give him better access to her inner thighs. 

“I imagine you’ll appreciate what’s underneath, if I do say so myself.”

Sam brushes a finger against the cool, damp silk of Cait’s knickers. Cait’s eyes flutter as he manages to find her clit but pops open suddenly as the door behind Sam opens and the man who escorted her to her hotel room walks into the bar. Cait quickly pushes Sam’s hand away and Sam coolly crosses his legs, turning in his seat to gain the attention of the bartender once more.

“Sneak to my room in 15 minutes,” Sam says casually, sipping from his beer and observing her out of the corner of his eye.

“More like five,” Cait says breathlessly, stealthily snatching Sam’s keycard from his shirt pocket, slipping off her seat and walking determinedly to his room. The playful swing of her hips were not lost on Sam. Knowing he was to play it cool, he allowed a whopping 3 ½ minutes transpire before throwing some bills on the bar and almost skipping to the elevator.


	11. onze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for the comments and kudos! Terribly sorry for the short posts. This month is and will be a rotation of planes, trains, and automobiles as I travel around the east coast.

“She was oddly thrilled at the prospect,” Sam hisses in between hurried kisses up and down Cait’s neck. “I don’t think she’s ever loved me but in that moment…”

Cait presses her palm against the car window, gasping for air. 

“How positive are we that these windows are tinted enough?” She gasps, lifting her hips to meet his.

“I don’t fucking care,” He responds, quickly running a hand up her shirt. “We’re 10 minutes from the airport.”

Seattle had been a blur of panels, meet-and-greets, and fan sightings at every turn. This left little time for secret romantic rendezvous between photographs and interviews let alone conversation. They were attempting both since Maril had splurged and gotten them a limo complete with privacy patrician; the reservation communicated to the two along with a winky face emoticon. Maril has only been communicating in emoji as of late.

“So she is okay with pretending to be your girlfriend and essentially being reduced to arm candy just as long as she gets to attend the fancy events?” Cait asks, slipping Sam’s shirt up and over his head.

“Yea,” Sam says absently, unhooking her bra and licking one nipple taunt.

“We don’t have time for fucking foreplay,” Cait points out, lifting her skirt and tugging at his belt.

Sam was tempted to remind her of a in-depth conversation the two had taken part in when they were still “just friends.” Cait had launched into some long-winded argument that included several cited feminist theory novels and a complete anatomical review of the clitoris in order to defend the importance of foreplay. Sam wishes he had known that was her way of flirting. He would have taken her back to his apartment to show how well he was listening.

But now was not the time.

“Did you talk to Tony?” He asks, pushing aside Cait’s knickers as he kicks off his jeans.

“No,” She gasps, reaching a hand into his boxers. “No, we’ll just lay low. If it comes out we’ve broken up; so be it. I wanna be on top.”

Sam, always eager to obey, sits back in the seat and allows Cait to straddle him. 

“This will have to be the quickest quickie,” She says, sucking on his neck. 

“Then come here,” He whispers, placing both hands on her hips and urging her down onto him. Cait moans as she does, throwing her head back to give Sam a show. She lets her self move slowly against his body for just a moment before increasing her pace and letting her breasts bounce before him. Sam immediately leans forward to catch one nipple in his mouth while one hand reaches between her legs to aid her pleasure.

“Sam,” Cait whispers, running her hand through his tangled hair. “Oh I missed this.”

Sam glances up to respond but is interrupted as the limo makes an abrupt stop and they both fall off the seat onto the ground.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Cait mumbles, quickly dismounting Sam and searching for her discarded knickers. Sam follows suit, shimming into his jeans and throwing hi shirt on.

“This isn’t good,” Cait gasps, rolling down the window half an inch to observe the airport before them. “Did you give me a hickey?”

Sam, still searching for his belt, gave a hasty nod. 

“Can you tell I’m as stiff as a board?” He tries, showcasing his body as if asking an opinion on some new jeans. 

“Um….”

Before she could answer, the driver had opened the door and offered an escorting hand in.

“Just walk a couple paces behind me,” Cait hisses, accepting the offered hand and stepping out the limo.

Just as she cleared his view, Sam let out a harsh “fuck!” as he observed a rosy hickey peaking out of Cait’s collar. 

 

 

 

 

“Gin martini, extra dirty,” Cait says to the bartender, self-consciously tucking the neck of her shirt up.

“Please don’t use wordplay as foreplay,” Sam whines once the bartender walked off. “I can’t take much more.”

Cait gives him a sympathetic smile but refrains from touching him. She had observed another airport bar patron behind them who was doing a terrible time of pretending to not take pictures of them. 

“London to South Africa then?” Cait asks, nodding a thanks to the bartender as she’s passed her martini. 

“Aye,” Sam says, warily rubbing one eye. “I’m exhausted just thinking of it.”

“I’d like to say that I’ll be spending our day in London with you in a hot bath,” Cait says under her breath, “but I did sort of break up with Tony on the phone. I owe him a face to face…”

“I figured,” Sam replies, resting his forehead on the bottle neck of his beer. “Will you be mentioning how Mackenzie and I will be playing ken and Barbie?”

“Er,” Cait hesitates, taking an elongated sip of her drink. “I thought it best I not.”

“Oh,” Sam says, understanding the implication immediately. “You’re not telling him about us.”

Cait changes a sideways glance at Sam, wanting desperately to kiss his furrowed brow or hold his hand.

“What we have is for us, love,” Cait says softly. “Tony will know in due time. For now, remember our mantra: we are days away from a room with an ocean view.”


	12. Douze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kind of bummed because half of my chapter didn't post last time and I don't save my writing on my computer because it doubles as my work computer and I'm ASHAMED. So that's what took so long, my apologies D: 
> 
> This is more of a filler chapter. I'll be better, I swear.

Cait tries to blindly snooze the alarm on her phone, fingers indiscriminately pressing buttons in attempts to silence the shrill ring. She had been having a hard time adjusting to her new sleep schedule what with the change in hemispheres and the ever present need to defile her costar whenever a bed presented itself.

Cait unable to silence her phone, Sam groans beside her in his half state of consciousness, pulling her closer into his body. Cait smiles, finally ceasing the ringing and also in response to Sam’s morning state of arousal. She grinds her bottom into him lazily, fitting him between her thighs like a satisfying puzzle, but ultimately letting sleep take her again.

Her eyes snap open, however, when a girlish “hello?” greets her ears. She quickly fumbles to find her phone, brings it to her ear without checking the ID and offers a short “Hi?”

“Hey sister wife,” Mackenzie replies from the other end. 

Cait immediately responds by rolling over and elbowing Sam hard in the ribs. 

“Fucking hell, Balfe,” Sam moans, curling into himself. 

“Your girlfriend is on the phone,” Cait whispers, taking care to hiss the word “girlfriend” as vehemently as she could.

“I know it’s probably the busy schedule, but Sam must have forgotten to pick me up from the airport?” Mackenzie continues on the phone.

Cait widens her eyes at Sam. “Sam picking you up from the airport? I’m sure he wouldn’t have forgotten,” She adds pointedly. 

This elicits a quick “fucking hell” from Sam as he springs out of bed and skillfully throws his legs, one after the other, into the pair of work out shorts he had been wearing the previous day. Cait smiles appreciatively as his toned ass disappears behind the fabric and the muscles of his back flex and relax as he throws a shirt on.

“It’s counter intuitive,” Cait says, muting the phone momentarily, “but I love watching you dress.”

Sam cheekily blows her a kiss, before grabbing his keys from the night stand. He pauses at the doorway turning to observe Cait naked and flushed on the bed.

“Thanks for the night, Darlin,” He winks, digging a few bills from his wallet and tossing it in her direction.

He smiles as he hears her sardonic “har har” follow him out the door. 

 

 

After their initial cordial greetings, it became clear that the anticipated awkwardness Sam and Cait had discussed at length was something Mackenzie had given little to no thought to. In fact, she flourished within the confines of the defined phony relationship. She had wrapped her arm around Cait and beamed at her; responding to every quick apology with a filterless “it’s my pleasure!”

As if constantly prompted to, Mackenzie gushes for the fifth time: “You’re doing me the favor, honestly. Sending me to South Africa so I can hang out with you two cats and occasionally get photographed with this one?” She jerks her head in Sam’s direction. “I mean, hell yeah.”

Cait raises her eyebrow at Sam before echoing Mackenzie’s sentiment. “Hell yeah!” 

“Before we pour the champagne, there are just some specifics we have to iron over,” Maril, the reluctant party pooper, remarks. “Namely, who will be in on our little charade?”

“Are you secretly getting off on this?” Cait asks. Guiltily, she had come to terms with her own apparent fetish. After initially hating the concept, Cait had quickly evolved from an over all feeling of disgust, to acceptance, to mild annoyance; but had somehow settled on a not-so-subtle sensation of arousal concerning the whole ordeal. She had sheepishly shared this with Sam who has since been doing his best to exploit this piece of trivia; sliding a hand up her thigh under long table cloths, gazing at her during interviews, and delivering obvious sexual innuendos during public conversations and then quickly establishing eye-contact. 

Maril dismisses the accusation casually and spells out the parameters of the plan—all of which were not-so obviously drawn out at her writing desk with a well gnawed-on pen.

“Basically, all present is in on your little social experiment and no one else may know?” Sam asks. “Mack and I must feature each other on instagram occasionally and Cait and I must act like platonic best mates for… how long?”

Maril shrugs, having filled her worrying quota for the day, and actually produces a bottle of champagne from her purse. 

“Life’s a performance,” She says, pouring the amber liquid into plastic cups. “Let’s make it entertaining.”

Mackenzie knocks their glasses, beaming as she does so. Cait, already starting to feel a bit hot even without glancing at Sam, beams right back. Of course, not wanting to miss an opportunity, Cait feels the warmth of Sam’s palm as it rests on her thigh—inching inward slowly. 

 

 

“Well fuck, that didn’t last long,” Sam says, slack jawed and amazed as he peaks out the bush he had been hiding in. Cait, currently tucked beneath him, lifts herself up onto her elbows.

“What didn’t last long? Does someone see us?” She asks, actually having the decency to blush. Not two weeks after Maril’s clear and concise narration of how their lives were to appear to the outside, the two were snogging in the bushes at a cast party at Cesar’s rented pad.

To be fair, the whole party had gone to shit the moment Cesar had presented a couple trays of weed brownies and suggested the party partake in skinny dipping. Most of the cast had eagerly agreed to jump in the pool which had presented Sam and Cait with an opportunity for a tryst in the bushes. 

Sam had just pushed a knee between Cait’s legs when he heard a familiar laugh from the other side of the bushes. He had silenced Cait’s questioning by slipping his fingers into her mouth. She had started to seductively tongue and suck on them as if reflexively, giving Sam time to peak around the corner and observe Mackenzie and Lauren lean in for a kiss.

“No one sees us,” Sam says, centering himself above her. “Everything’s coming together.”

“Who’s coming?” Cait asks, arching her back to push against him. “Fuck, I’m so far gone…”

“It’s okay,” He says soothingly, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I’m here.”

As if he were Jamie Fraser himself, Sam scoops Cait up into his arms and carries her out of the bushes. She smiles appreciatively up at him and then over his shoulder.

“Wait… are Mack and Lauren making ou--” But before Cait could convert the thought into language, Sam had thrown her into the pool and jumped in after her with an impressive cannon ball.


	13. treize

“More ass,” Cait requests, peering through the view finder. “Point your nose north and your tailbone south.”

Obligingly, Mackenzie pushes her butt out and points her nose into the wind.

“Smells like baboon shit,” She reports, glancing over her shoulder at Cait and giving her a wink. Cait shrugs, nodding her head toward the “baboon crossing” sign and capping her camera. 

“I think we’ve done enough pretending today,” Cait says, offering Mac a hand as she jumps off her squat boulder. “How about a glass of wine overlooking the coast? It’s not a total lie if at least someone witnesses a romantic sunset on this mountain.” 

Mac fans out a beach blanket a few feet from the cliff edge and weighs the corners down with her and Cait’s shoes. Cait uncorks a bottle of chilled white wine and pours them both a generous glass, settling onto the blanket with a basket of grapes and bread. The two sit in companionable silence, watching the sun’s rays slowly descend from heaven to earth.

Cait couldn’t help but recall the afternoon Sam and her had spent on the banks of the Mississippi, watching that same sun disappear behind a slow-moving barge.

“What a strange few months this has been,” Mac says, as if reading Cait’s mind. 

Cait considers her for a moment, removing a few wisps of hair the wind had blown across her mouth. She hadn’t broached the conversation with Mac yet, but not out of fear of awkwardness or over stepping any boundaries. She just hadn’t broached the conversation about her relationship with Sam to anyone. Besides being sworn to secrecy, Cait was thoroughly enjoying living in her own little bubble with Sam. Not entering the real world gave them a moment of respite, or a chance to make up for all the time they had missed out on. 

But in reality, Mackenzie was the other player in this little game. She had her head turned and resting on her knee—her blonde hair blowing behind her in the wind.

“I can see how much he loves you,” She says earnestly. “I think I always saw it.”

Cait blushes and looks into her wine glass, unsure how to navigate such a conversation.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Mac says, laying a soft hand on Cait’s arm. “I think the first time I saw you two together, it was a relief more than anything.”

She lets out a breath then, as if remembering the release she had felt.

“We were at a cast party—the first one I had ever attended. I was super nervous because I didn’t know anyone and I knew how close the friendships in this production were. I felt like Sam’s American Barbie—fresh out the factory. You remember those stupid shoes I wore? And you all were in sweats?”

Cait snorts a bit and shoots her an apologetic look.

“It’s okay, I know I looked like a try-hard,” Mac laughs as well. “We got to the party well before you did. Sam was a full head taller than everyone else there, yet he had his chin in the air scanning the room. Looking up at him, holding on to his arm like I was about to sink, I could tell there would be a void in the room until you showed up.”

Cait continues to look down into her wine, taking a long sip and spinning the remaining liquid in a circle. She remembered that party very well. She was late because she almost didn’t go. She knew she would be meeting Mackenzie and even though she was core deep in denial, she prepared for such an event by draining a couple glasses of red wine. 

She had spent a good two hours preparing for the party; shaving her legs and lathering coconut oil over her skin, curling her hair and trying on seven different outfits. She was sipping wine the entire time and around two glasses in realized how stupid she was acting. She knew it was a casual party. She knew she would usually appear at these events in a stripped t-shirt and leather jacket. 

Yet knowing Sam would be there with his new girlfriend shook her to her core. She remembered trying to grapple with why she felt the need to draw his eye—set dominance over him. She was in a relationship. 

Mac interrupts Cait’s reminiscing by topping off her glass.

“But then you arrived,” Mac continues, staring back into the sunset. “Walked in through that door in a white shirt and black leggings looking like a goddamn goddess. He basically levitated to you—this giant smile spreading across his face.”

“We were best friends,” Cait says, not sure who she is kidding at this point.

“Sure,” Mac smiles and then pauses for a moment. “I’m not mad, Cait. I’m actually trying to apologize.”

Startled, Cait looks up at her now to see Mac smiling back.

“I just thought you should know…” She starts, tucking some fallen hair behind her ear. “I knew he was in love with you from the start. I knew I couldn’t be in love with him a few months in. I was having so much fun tagging along…” she shakes her head, embarrassed.

“I should have ended it,” Mac finally says with determination. “Honestly, I should have ended it after that party.”

Cait considers Mackenzie for a moment, observing the way she nervously bit her lip and searched Cait for any sort of response. Cait wasn’t positive she could allow Mac to apologize in good faith. Cait had spent a considerable amount of time thinking nasty, uncalled for thoughts about the young girl simply for being in a relationship with Sam. Logically, Cait knew it was wrong and playing into the constant woman verses woman bashing she was so obstinately against.

Making up her mind on the matter, Cait scoots closer to Mac and chinks their wine glasses together.

“To new friendships,” She says simply, taking a quick sip. “And new relationships?” She adds pointedly.

Mackenzie blushes momentarily, taking a longer drink of wine.

“You saw that?”

Cait gives her a quick nod and a slight poke with her elbow.

“I think you two look cute together,” Cait adds as Mac drains her glass and reaches for a refill. “She’s such a nice girl, is all.”

Mac stares out into the sunset—the dark hues of purple and blue dominating the sky. The sound of crickets start to drown out the hum of the distant highway. 

“You know,” Mac says, breaking the silence. “There was a moment—in the kitchen at the party. We were all standing in a circle and your sound technician was recalling a tough scene where you both had to do a bit of crying. The whole time he was telling us this story, you two were having this little moment, I believe—possibly reliving your own recollection of that night. Sam had this soft expression I had never seen and you were nodding slowly and reassuringly. I have no idea what you two were communicating in that moment—I was just in awe of the way you were communicating.”

Cait smiled and then closed her eyes against the sudden need to see Sam—focusing on the incoming chill of the night and the chirping of nocturnal insects.

 

 

When she arrived to her room, Sam was already curled around himself in bed—covers pulled to his chin. Cait watched him for a moment from her perch at the end of the bed, observing the stern yet peaceful expression he adopts when in a deep slumber. As if compelled by some sudden force, Cait clad still in her day wear, slips into the covers and against Sam.

He moves to accommodate her, moving his arm around her midriff and inhaling the sent of her hair.

“I’ve missed you,” he mummers into her ear, hand running down the slope of her body and resting on the curve of her hip. 

Cait closes her eyes and feels the nonverbal communication between them—the way his thumb rubbed small circles into the dip of her hip bone and the force upon witch she squeezes his hand. 

“I’ve missed you too.”


	14. quatorze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I suck at updating. I swear, something resembling a plot will resurface eventually.

“What sweet cock have you been sucking on tonight, darling?”

Sam, who had been previously nose-to-ink deep in a 18th century erotica—sprawled across a beach blanket with his toes dug in the sand, pops up like an alarmed prairie dog. He considers Cesar for a moment, who was staring intently at Cait. 

“The fuck, man?”

Cait, who had been puff-puff passing with Cesar for the past hour, giggles softly.

“Ah ha, so it was yours,” Cesar says confidently, taking a long drag of his blunt before passing it to Sam. 

Sam glances at Cait who was somehow managing to maintain sex appeal while closely examining individual grains of sand with an astonished look upon her face. He refocuses on Cesar.

“No…” he starts slowly. “Was just a bit untoward?”

“Sam the white knight hour, is it? Here to save the lady’s honor?” Cesar laughs much to Sam’s chagrin.

Sam lowers his eyebrows. Confident that no one could be better at taking the piss than himself, Sam returns his attention to his novel, licking a finger to aid in his page turning.

“No really, Cait. Must have been a thick veiny bastard, the way you’ve been walking lately,” Cesar continues, eliciting a mock scandalized gasp from Cait,

“Aye, alright” Sam says, dog earing his book and tossing it in the sand. “has it been that obvious?”

“What? That you’ve got a huge veiny bastard or that you two have been bumping uglies?”

Sam opens his mouth to respond but is cut off.

“Because I knew you were together since that shitty ‘oh, no, not us- I’m dating Mackenzie’ speech you’d memorized and I reckoned you had a big dick after your modestly pouch failed to protect your modesty post brothel scene.”

Sam promptly closes his mouth and stares at Cesar at a loss for words. Cait, too high for her own good, simply crawls across the sand towards Sam. 

“Samwise, the cat’s out the bag,” She says bluntly, crawling right up on his lap, giving him a quick peck on the nose. 

“Just so we’re clear- that pussy was never in the bag,” Cesar winks, finishing off the joint, standing and brushing the sand off his swim trunks. “I’m back to the apartment as I see where this is going.”

The moment Cesar’s retreating frame cleared a sand dune, Cait repositions herself so that she is straddling Sam in the sand. 

“If the entire production knows, maybe we could—“ Cait starts, twirling a tendril of red with her finger.

“Fuck it,” Sam interrupts, abruptly bringing his lips to hers and sucking tentatively on her bottom lip. “I’m so tired of talking about this.”

Cait nods enthusiastically, grinding down on his hips as his mouth navigated its way to her clavicle and then down to the valley of her breasts.

The two had discussed the probability of them having sex on the beach since their temporary home was South Africa— but the weather had not been cooperating and privacy was a rare commodity, even on a closed set. Even now, as the sun filtered occasionally through thick clouds, Sam and Cait were plagued with goose flesh and Cait started to shiver in her bikini top.

“I have an idea,” Sam says, breaking the seal he had initiated with Cait’s breasts. “You’re not going to like it, initially, but trust me…”

Before Cait can respond, Sam has her in a fireman’s carry, hurdling towards the cresting waves. She screams in retaliation but ultimately braces herself as Sam wades waist deep and the waves lick up the side of her legs. Mirroring Sam’s quick inhalation, Cait has just enough time to close her eyes before Sam plunges them both into the icy cold.

The temperature hits them both in the diaphragm and bubbles erupt around them as they let out their breath in an explosion of air. Sam kicks up from the sandy bottom and resurfaces just their heads—allowing Cait a moment to gulp the salty air before bringing her in for a long and warming kiss.

Though she had initially intended to protest, Cait found the gentleness of his exploring tongue in contrast to his strong and embracing body to generate a considerable warmth that fanned over her in close waves. She brings her arms around his neck, wrapping her legs around him below the surface. The water was so cold, it felt as if she was boiling alive. She welcomes the feeling as Sam pushes her bikini bottom aside and slides inside her—that surprisingly warm as well. 

The feeling of weightlessness paired with the moderately strong current and lack of fulcrum left Sam with little control. Instead, Cait slowly moved her hips around Sam while languidly alternating kisses from his neck and ear—leaving his mouth free so she could enjoy every low moan he produced.

The hot and cold already a recipe for sensory overload, Cait’s orgasm hits her hard as she tightens her thighs around Sam and leans back into the waves to help her ride it out. Sam follows suit, his knees momentarily buckling, sending them back down into the water.

Underwater and encompassed in a tome of silence, Cait opens her eyes to see Sam in a state of weightlessness—hair swirling around him and knees tucking up around him. He smiles at her—and pulls her close, giving her one last kiss in their blue heaven.


End file.
